Vignettes
by Glass Prism
Summary: Bat Boy: The Musical. A series of short stories from multiple characters' viewpoints during multiple scenes.
1. Chapter 1: Edgar

**#1**

Waking up and finding one' self in a cage is not a pleasant experience.

He did everything he could to get out. He jerked at the bars, bit at them, and violently attacked them and only stopped when he bruised himself. Finally, he was forced to resort to shrieking at them.

The girl who had been poking at him while he lay half-conscious a few hours ago came strolling in. He took little notice of her, preferring to spend his time screaming at the cage.

"Shut up," she groaned, flopping on the sofa and attempting to read. When he didn't stop, she said slightly louder, "Shut up!" As he ignored her she stood up, repeating in ever-increasing volume, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up shut up s_hut up shut up shut up-_"

He turned and shrieked into her face.

"_SHUT UP!_"

Her voice hit a pitch even he had never reached, effectively silencing him and leaving him staring, wide-eyed, into her face.

He hadn't looked at her properly before, and found himself awestruck. He had never seen a girl so pretty, or one whose voice could reach a note higher than the ones he made while singing to himself in a cave.

Too quickly she wandered away, talking to an older woman. He watched their conversation avidly, forgetting his hunger for the moment.

Then the woman came back, holding a cooked chicken, and he quickly remembered. He started his wild screeching once more, sticking his head out between the bars to scream at them.

"Mom, make him stop!" the girl whined.

The woman placed the chicken down, smiling at him. He sniffed at it. It looked like a dead animal – but it was way too warm, and seemed to have misplaced all its blood. And its head, and some internal organs.

He started to shriek at it as well. This was not food!

"Arrgghhh!" The girl clapped her hands over her ears as her mother hastily pulled out the chicken. "Thanks for ruining dinner, you freak!"

"Don't call him that, Shelley."

"Sorry." She turned to him and, with typical teenager wit, said, "Thanks for ruining dinner, _Bat Boy_."

She was looking at him. It felt like it was just the two of them, and that he could simply reach out and tell her everything.

"Don't call him that either," her mother said sternly.

"But that's what he looks like -"

"Shelley!"

"But _that's_ what _he looks like!_"

"_Shelley_!"

She sighed. "What do you wanna call him?"

He swung up to the bars of the cage. It wasn't so bad, not as long as the girl remained. Why, the bars of the cage were quite similar to some of the ledges he hung off of. He hooked his legs through and hung upside down, swinging slowly back and forth.

"How about…Edgar?" The woman came to one side of the cage and crooned, "Eeedddgggaaarrrr."

He opened his eyes and peeped at her, gurgling a bit.

"Oh, he likes that name!"

He sensed the girl move to his other side. "Uuuuuggggllllyyyy," she said, imitating her mother's exact tone.

Well, of course he liked whatever she suggested, as he immediately turned to her, growling happily back.

"He likes ugly better!" the girl crowed triumphantly. And the newly christened Edgar was almost as excited as she to see her so happy.

Her mother, however, glared at her. "_Edgar_ it is," she said. "I'm going to go make something else for Edgar. Stay away from the cage."

The girl slinked over anyway as her mother left. "Okay…"

Edgar leaped down and crouched near her, staring into her face. She tilted her head and imitated his stance, sending a thrill through him. He was so excited he let out a happy shriek at her.

She, however, was only puzzled. "What?" Then she heard a knocking and screamed a name, running to the door and letting in a burly young man. She squealed, hopping into his arms.

Edgar felt an immediate, unfamiliar sensation – a burning in the pit of his stomach that was totally at odds with his hunger, turning his vision red.

"Yo baby!" the guy exclaimed, lifting her up. "Are you alright? I heard the sheriff brought the Bat Boy over!"

Edgar hissed angrily. He did not like him touching him. He did not _want_ him touching her.

The boy turned about sharply, eyes widening. "He's still alive?" He glared back at Shelley. "He's in your house?"

"It's okay Rick, he's confined."

"This cage'll never hold 'im!" Rick yelled, punching the bars. "My sister's still in the hospital with a big ol' – God! I can't believe you've got him in your house!"

Shelley protested, "My mom said we've gotta keep him until my dad comes home!"

Rick raised his eyebrows. "Your dad's just gonna kill 'im, right?"

She shrugged. " I dunno…" She waltzed over, smiling up at him. "So…whatcha wanna do tonight?"

To her great disappointment, he seemed to find Edgar much more interesting.

"Hey you little freak…"

Edgar cocked his head at him.

"…you remember me? We were never introduced properly."

He started to yell at him, to taunt him, but for all the good it did when Edgar couldn't understand anything he was saying. All he saw was the boy yelling and jumping up and down to his own tune, and Shelley joining in excitedly, her pigtails bouncing girlishly. He found himself hopping to the tune, unaware that he was the one being taunted.

Shelley stopped suddenly. "What?"

"Dude, you are so hot!"

She giggled. "You know my mom is right upstairs tonight!"

"That chick is fully unawares tonight!" He grabbed Shelley. Edgar paused in his own bouncing, eyes widening. "Uh huh…"

She pulled in and Edgar cringed. "Uh huh…"

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh…"

They started to kiss.

Oh no. _No_. _NO_.

They would not do that in front of him. He wanted to pound the boy's head into the ground for daring to touch her, but he couldn't. And then he came up with an idea. He pulled himself to the top of the cage and cried, "Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh huh…" and added in a few pelvic thrusts for fun.

Just as he wanted, Shelley threw the boy off, rolling her eyes. The boy gnashed his teeth, denied his lust and ran to the cage angrily.

"You freak! Can't you mind your own business?"

Edgar landed on the ground and ran to a corner, wanting to laugh out loud at the look on the boy's face.

"Stay away from the cage," the girl warned. Edgar was very happy to see her moving to the other side of the room.

"What…You wanna bite me like you bit my sister? You wanna piece of me?" He stuck his head into the bars. "Huh? Tough guy?"

Edgar was waiting; he leaped at the boy and snarled, taking unabashed glee as the boy yelped and jumped back.

"You see that?"

The girl retorted, "I told you!"

The boy wiped off Edgar's spit, now livid with anger at having been so easily humiliated in front of his girlfriend. "Why you tryin' to step to me, little creep? Are you throwin' down on me, little freak?"

Worry lines had formed on Shelley's face as she looked between the two boys. "Rick…" she said warningly.

"Whatcha gonna do?" Rick yelled, ignoring his girlfriend. "C'mon little coward! Let's get it on!" And he launched himself at the cage.

For a little while Edgar actually enjoyed it, snarling and flinging himself between the bars in an attempt to match Rick's roars. But when Rick started throwing chairs at him, started threatening to bring out a gun and bringing Shelley's cries for her mother into a scream, he started to grow worried. And finally Rick climbed atop his cage, where Edgar could not fight him, and while Rick shrieked his anger to the world he could only lie on the cage floor and wish it was all over.

"Rick Taylor, what do you think you are doing?"

Everybody froze.

"Uh…" For once Rick was at a loss. "Nothing."

"A poor, defenseless boy, and this is how you treat him?" She gestured at Edgar, now peeking out at the sudden silence. "Get out of my house."

"He started it-"

"Get _out_ of my house."

Rick knew when he was beaten. He jumped off the top of the cage and said apologetically, "Sorry Mrs. Taylor. I guess…I'll just go visit my sister…"

Edgar looked up at him and Rick suddenly snapped, kicking at him and yelling,

"IN THE HOSPITAL!"

He walked out. Edgar sighed. The boy bothered him.

The lights flickered suddenly as lightning cracked in the distance.

"There go the lights," the older woman sighed.

Shelley knelt next to the cage, and Edgar stared up at her unblinkingly. She didn't look quite so angry anymore; rather sweet and gentle, actually. Edgar sat up, ignoring the stirrings of hunger. He liked that look. She smiled just a bit, and he imitated it.

Then he curled up and tried to hold back the hunger that had started to claw at him.

"He doesn't look very good, Mom."

"He's had a hard day, dear."

Edgar did not understand them, yet his thoughts followed the same line. And despite his present, unsatisfied hunger and the terrifying encounter with a boy, he was happy.

* * *

Don't know if this gets a notification, but I made some much needed edits to this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2: Rick Taylor

Another vignette! And I thought I had writer's block...

This is from Rick Taylor's point of view, and takes place during the appropriately named scene, "All Hell Breaks Loose" (aka between "A Joyful Noise (Reprise)" and "Three Bedroom House").

Oh, forgot a disclaimer for this too: I have never and will never own _Bat Boy: The Musical_. I just like playing with the story and characters.

**#2**

Rick sometimes thought of the day he first met Shelley Parker. It had been on the playground at school during recess. She had been hanging upside down on the monkey bars, her entire mouth red after sucking on a cherry flavored lollipop. Both were around six years old. He had trotted on over and, without thinking, planted a kiss on her mouth – partially because he liked her, but mostly because he really enjoyed eating cherry lollipops.

She had fallen off the monkey bars, landing smack on her head, and started to scream at him, before running off, still wailing. They hadn't spoken for the rest of elementary school.

In middle school things thawed slightly between them. They had a few classes together, and would chat once in a while. He sometimes got the feeling that she was looking at him, but whenever he turned around she wasn't. It was very puzzling.

High school everything changed. Really changed. Suddenly both girls and guys were developing, in really weird ways. Girls were getting clumpy, clustering in groups of friends, whispering and giggling every time a certain boy walked by. It so confused the guys that they started to form their own groups to make their own, often lewd observations about girls.

The point was – that was when he really started to notice Shelley. In elementary school she was a regular kid, a girl, which one avoided like the plague at that age. In middle school she was one of the awkward ones – sort of tall and gangly, tripping over every random thing. Then a summer passed, and suddenly, she was different. Different in a way that made guys take notice.

Unattainable too. Her dad was the town veterinarian, which made him higher than a lot of the town yokels. He was also a really good shot with the rifle; rumor had it that Shelley had tried to date a boy and that he had ended up running out of the house with Dr. Parker following, gun still smoking.

So Rick didn't do anything for over a year. Sure he watched her – and he was pretty sure that she watched him back, now and then – but he didn't make a move until he heard one of his friends had. It was just his luck that Shelley had politely declined the rival's proposal. Rick had quickly realized that now was the time to act – and he had. He had gone up to her and, with a mixture of bravado and uncertainty, asked her to go out with him. And she had agreed.

Why was he thinking all this? Because of the freak she had in her house. He wouldn't be worried, but for the whispers at school, that Mrs. Parker had started letting it loose from its cage, that people had seen is skulking in their kitchens, and a nagging feeling he had gotten when he first saw it.

He had gone over after hearing that the sheriff had delivered the Bat Boy to the Parkers, to see if she was all right. He had had lots of fun teasing the thing, not particularly caring if it had been hurt or anything. He had treated it like an animal, because that was what it was. But then…

There had been a moment when he had visited her the day they captured the Bat Boy. Rick had never thought of the thing as a person, except at _that_ _one moment_. For that one moment, he saw it, not as an animal, but as actual rival.

A rival? That freak? He would laugh – only he had caught a look in the Bat Boy's eyes, this utter determination that he had seen – well, when he, Rick, had looked into a mirror the night before he asked Shelley out. And that was what had worried him.

He had put it out of his mind. His sister was in the hospital, his brother was going nuts without a playmate (and damn it, Rick was not going to play cowboy with his little brother), and his mother was hysterical half the time and on a screaming path of vengeance the other half. The only good part of his day was at school, when he could hang out with Shelley – but even that was going bad. All she ever seemed to talk about anymore was the stupid Bat Boy – and he was starting to think she was lying most of the time.

"You know what happened today? The Bat Boy actually started talking to me! It was so weird, because he always used to scream stuff, and now he's actually saying stuff…"

"Oh Rick guess what? My mom started reading a story to Bat Boy, and he read back? I didn't know he could even read! My mom almost fell off the sofa…"

"Edgar's so cute! Today he thought Disneyland was the Wailing Wall! It was hilarious, we were all laughing at him…"

Rick had thought at the time: 'Edgar'? When had the Bat Boy gained a name?

"Edgar's starting to take online classes. He's actually ahead of me, and I think he's going to graduate before me, too!" Rick had questioned the validity of this, and his girlfriend had replied, "Oh, Edgar's really smart sometimes, but at other times he's kind of dumb. He doesn't know what questions are…you know…awkward? Like…"

And she told him a long, highly embarrassing story about the Bat Boy that Rick would never, ever, repeat to anyone, not even if they held a gun to his head.

He would be tolerant of their talks, if it hadn't interrupted their make out time. And Shelley seemed less interested in that aspect of their relationship. In fact, the day before the revival she had actually had the nerve to push him away slightly when he made a move on her.

"Stop it, Rick," she had said. "Come on, you want my dad to catch us like this?"

They had been right outside her house, so the excuse was valid…but Shelley had never cared what either of her parents thought, not really. So why start now?

And one more thing…Shelley had gone running to the door, without even waving good-bye to him. He had been watching her leave, but – perhaps he had seen a movement, or a flash – for whatever reason, he had looked up and seen someone standing at the upstairs window, looking at them. Looking at _her_.

And he was pretty sure it was the creep that had everyone was starting to talk about.

That was what Rick Taylor thought, as his girlfriend leaped in front of the Bat Boy and yelled,

"RICK! Leave the boy alone! Put it down right now! You're an UGLY CREEP!"

_So did the best man win tonight?_

And he had thought it was about his younger sister.

He couldn't explain what came over him – all he knew was that _he_ had lost, and to this ugly, freaky Bat Boy. It all boiled into one tiny point of anger and it made him want to yell, to rip, to hit –

And he made the biggest mistake of his life, and hit Shelley.

She fell to the ground, and now Rick locked eyes with his rival, and saw shock pass over the Bat Boy – did animals feel emotions, he wondered – and then the same anger that had crept over him overcame the Bat Boy, and faster than anything Rick had ever seen, he was leaping at him –

And then they were both on the ground, and all was screaming and a wrestling of limbs and jaws, and Rick felt a hot, burning _something_ on his neck –

And then, all went black.

* * *

Random Notes:

For the last vignette I took a lot of inspiration from: 1) my school production (which introduced me to the entire musical and was awesome(!), in my unbiased opinion), 2) a YouTube video of the original cast performing Whatcha Wanna Do (Kerry Butler is adorable, by the way), and 3) a script I managed to find (complete with musical score, which was unfortunately useless to me).

Another thing: I try not to describe characters in Bat Boy FF, because it's been played in so many productions and by so many people, that I imagine readers all have their own image of what a character looks like (except maybe Bat Boy, who generally looks the same no matter the production). But the more I research, the more I realize that Shelley is probably supposed to be blonde. Just take a look at the actresses who played her in the original (Kerry Butler) and London productions (Emma Williams). But by the time I saw this, a lot of my stuff had been written and I was too lazy to go back and change anything. And I prefer it this way anyway.

Okay, enough ranting. Stay tuned for the next one!


	3. Chapter 3: Shelley Parker

Yes, another chapter. Here is the view of the last person in the not-really-a-love-triangle: Shelley, right after "Comfort and Joy".

**#3**

She came to his room excitedly when she heard the news.

"You're going to the revival, Edgar!"

He was sitting on his bed, when she entered he started, his arm jerking suddenly. She thought she saw something go flying out his open window.

"I am," he said quickly, trying to cover up his strange behavior. "Your mother convinced your father that I could."

Shelley clapped her hands joyfully. "That's wonderful Edgar!" She sat down by him, holding his arm. "The revival's the greatest – there's tons of food and talking and games and – you've got blood on you!"

Startled he looked down, and seeing the stain, turned around as if it were something indecent.

"How did that get there?" Shelley cried. "Are you bleeding Edgar? Are you hurt?"

"No!" he yelled, fleeing the bed for the bathroom. "No, I'm fine! I just need to -"

"What happened? Did somebody -"

"I'm not hurt! I just need…need to wash!" He swung the bathroom door closed; Shelley flung out her hand and it smacked her palm, bouncing back open.

She said quickly, "Let me help."

He looked at her. "Help?"

"Yeah. It's just a bit of blood." She pulled off his jacket. "It's still wet too. It should be easy to get off." She turned on the faucet. "Just put it under cold water and scrub it a bit…" She did so; the blood washed away, leaving red streaks along the edge of the sink. "…and it's gone. See?" She held up the jacket; it was clean, but for a large wet patch.

He took it gratefully. "It is. Thank you." He examined it for any other marks. "How did you know to wash it like that?"

Shelley suddenly blushed. "I…have experience…washing…blood…" She coughed slightly.

"You do? Why would you need to wash blood off?"

They were venturing into private territory. "I…just do," she said, looking nervous.

"How?"

"Well…every month or so… stuff happens…"

"What stuff?" He was gazing at her with great interest. "What stuff do you have that involves…" He indicated his jacket.

"Uh…you know…female stuff?"

He blinked. "Female stuff?" he repeated.

"Good God, didn't Mom tell you this?" Shelley finally cried, throwing up her hands.

"Tell me what?" he asked, frightened by her sudden outburst.

"You know! This…girl...development…puberty?"

"Puberty is when a child becomes an adult through the release of hormones, stimulating growth of sexual organs and secondary characteristics," he rattled off.

Shelley felt heat creeping up her cheeks. "Yeah, that."

"What does that have to do with blood?"

"I…well…" She struggled for words for a moment. Pulling herself on the counter, she gave him a little lecture: "Okay, when girls get older, they start to…you know, change."

"Girls develop breasts, their waists become slimmer, and fat accumulates in their hips. Hair also -"

"Okay!" Shelley yelled. He backed away a bit, looking scared. She sighed. "Yeah, that stuff happens, but we also… bleed…from a certain place…"

"Bleed?" His eyes were even wider than normal. "When? How?_Why?_"

"I…um…wait… Okay…Look, I'm not sure _why_ – it's something to do with giving birth – like, if you bleed – it's called having your period, by the way – it means you're _not_ pregnant, got it?" He nodded. "Great. Um, we bleed once a month -"

"When? When do you -"

"That's private!" she said heatedly. "It's different for every girl – sometimes they don't even get it once a month, they're irregular or something – anyway, once a month, usually around the same time, we bleed a bit, and it lasts about five days or so – it's different for everyone."

He nodded, processing the information. He asked her, "Are you bleeding right now?"

She was blushing very hard now. "No…mine was over…a few days ago…"

"You were bleeding a few days ago?" he cried. "But I didn't know – I didn't smell it or -"

"Smell it?" she said in disbelief. "What do you mean _smell_ it?"

He paused mid-rant and looking very tense all of a sudden. "I – nothing."

"Hey, don't try to avoid the topic!" she exclaimed. "I told you all this stuff, now you answer my questions!"

"No." He was backing towards the door. "Shelley, I mustn't -"

"Why not?"

"Not right now -"

"Then when?"

"I can't Shelley! Please!"

His face was so wracked with anxiety that she stopped.

"Hey…" She touched his shoulder. "Okay, I'm sorry. I just thought that, since I told you everything, you could tell me a bit about you."

He shook his head.

"Okay," she said, a little puzzled. "That's okay, I guess."

He removed her hand from his shoulder but held onto it, lightly. "I'll tell you some other time, alright? Please?" He stared pleadingly into her eyes.

"Yeah…yeah, that's okay." She smiled and took his other hand in hers, squeezing them. He looked down at them, then moved a bit closer to her.

"I…could tell you…a bit," he said hesitantly. He added quickly, "Promise you won't run?"

She frowned a bit. "Of course I promise. Now spill."

"Well…I thought…I didn't know you were bleeding…"

"Yes…"

"And…I usually can tell when someone is…"

"You can?" she exclaimed. "How?"

"I…smell…"

"Wow…"

He plowed on, encouraged by her response. "So when I couldn't tell with you…it gives me hope…"

She furrowed her brow. "Give you hope? How?"

"I…" Now he stopped. "I…can't tell you."

"_What?_"

"Please…not now…" he begged. "Later…after the revival…"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But after the revival – you tell me everything. Promise?"

"I promise."

"Great." Then, still holding his hands, she got up on tiptoe and kissed his forehead.

His breathing was ragged when she pulled away, his eyes closed.

"What…what was that?" he asked.

"A kiss, I think."

"It felt nice."

She laughed quietly. "Then what about this?" She kissed him on the lips.

She didn't get quite the reaction she wanted.

"I have to go," he mumbled, pushing her away.

"What?"

"Please – I can't -"

"Edgar!"

He fled the room.

The next day, Shelley suddenly realized why she should have been reluctant to start a relationship with Edgar.

"Hey baby." A muscular arm wrapped itself around her waist as she walked home. "I missed you."

They kissed, Shelley with markedly less enthusiasm, though he didn't seem to notice.

"You look tired, baby," he remarked. "Things alright with the Bat Boy?"

"His name's Edgar, and things are fine." She felt a little twist in her stomach, because things certainly weren't fine.

He moved so that he was at her side. "If it's bothering you, I could come over again, when your mom and dad is not around, and rip out its guts for you."

"No thank you," she replied evenly. She looked up at him, feeling guilt descend upon her. She had once loved this boy, who had seemed so tough yet could be, in the right moments, tender and passionate with her. Now, she felt so little, compared to what she felt for Edgar.

But Edgar didn't seem to want to be her. Why did he want to keep secrets from her? Why had he run off?

Her mother would scream at her. She should stay with her boyfriend, not go gallivanting off with someone else as soon as the opportunity presented herself. And…a dark hole seemed to open up in her heart. What if she fell for some other boy and left Edgar? What if this was some stupid fling? She was full of self-doubt. Was she some kind of…the closest thing she could think of was whore. Slut. What kind of girl just dropped off all the love she had for a boy like she did?

But, the other part argued, she didn't feel that for Edgar. She tried to conjure up the memories of days with Rick and compare it to now. Being with Edgar felt _better_. He wasn't just a boyfriend – he was a friend, a boy she had watched grow into a proper young man, someone who knew all her habits and interests. It felt…deeper. Like there was more to it than simple lust. He hadn't ever looked at her that way at all, in fact. Sometimes, when she had caught his stare, she had been surprised at what she seemed to see. It was more akin to worship.

The nastier side of her mind muttered that she was just trying to justify leading on two different boys.

They arrived at her house. Rick grabbed her again.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" He kissed her.

Shelley started to kiss him. She was facing the house, so only she saw a flicker of movement in an upper story window. She pulled away.

"Somethin' wrong Shel?"

She looked at the window again; there was nothing there now.

"It's nothing," she told him.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Random Note #1: That thing Edgar throws out the window in the beginning? I kind of meant it to be that rabbit Dr. Parker killed for him during "Comfort and Joy". Ha ha ha...yeah...

Random Note #2: I was experiencing the thing Shelley talked about while writing this, so it was sort of funny to write. And it was foremost in my mind, which will explain...a lot...


	4. Chapter 4: Meredith Parker

This is shorter than I would have liked it. Meredith Parker, everyone, during "A Home For You" and "A Home For You (Reprise)".

**#4**

It had been an ordinary day. While Thomas went to work, and then to hunt, she had stayed at home, cooking meals, cleaning house, and looking after her teenage daughter when she came home from school. How strange, that extraordinary events had such a normal prelude – as if they tried to lull you into complacency before startling you with just how twisted things could become.

That was how it began – quiet moments alone, the daily argument with her daughter over young men. It ended with the sheriff hauling in a dirty boy in handcuffs with a bag on his head, and telling her that they had found it in a cave, that it had attacked one of the Taylor children her daughter seemed to enjoy hanging out with, and that he expected them to keep it in their home.

She really had been complacent. She had not expected her past to catch up with her. Even when it was thrown at her feet, she hadn't expected it. She had tried to deny it even as the Sheriff explained that it was a "bat child" and as her daughter poked at it and showed an unhealthy interest in it. She had hoped it was simply…a fluke.

"For now, we'll wait and see," the sheriff said, washing his hands of the matter.

Yes, that was the only thing they could do now…

She couldn't deny it now. Once her daughter had pulled off that bag, even she couldn't deny it. The boy – those fangs, those ears – it was _her son_. The little baby she had thought dead was back.

She had thought it was a ghost – he was certainly pale enough to be one – but ghosts didn't bite children or stay confined to a cage. Ghosts were transparent and intangible; the boy was solid and…quite _loud_.

Her daughter had wandered upstairs while Meredith lit a candle. The lights had gone out. Normally she would be worried for her husband, and whether he could find his way home in such a storm. But right now, Thomas Parker was very far from her mind. Even his apparent betrayal of her wishes –

_Kill it!_

– that was forgotten. No, not forgotten. Forgiven. Somehow he had known that she might regret her actions, and he had allowed it to live. Her indifference towards her husband seemed to lessen just slightly.

She set the candle down and took a look at the boy. He – Edgar, that was the name she had always wanted for her son – had curled up at the bottom of the cage. He looked thin, almost emaciated, certainly starving. He had refused the chicken she had offered, though she was certain, what with those fangs, that he was carnivorous. Perhaps he was like a baby. Babies needed soft food. She had prepared a stew for him if that was what he needed.

Meredith took a look at the boy, who was watching her back with some curiosity. When she moved closer it attempted to crawl up the bars, sliding down as she unlocked the door.

It was not cute. It was not even a child anymore.

But it was _her _child. She had been a foolish, self-centered girl before, expecting a fairy-tale romance and a wedding to her "one true love". And when she hadn't gotten that (oh, how disappointed her even younger self would have been at the circumstances of her marriage), she had centered her hopes on her unborn child.

Unborn children. And when even that dream had gone unfulfilled – violently twisted was more descriptive – she had snapped. The sight of the ugly creature, the thought of it coming from her body, that it had _lived_ and _fed_ inside of her, with her perfect little girl – and most of all, the memories of that night, of violating hands and fluttering wings and the humiliation and pain –

She stopped. She had been stupid. The little baby had been innocent of those crimes, though she, in her hysterical state, had not realized it. Yes, there was guilt, there were years of neglect and abandonment she had to make up – but, thank God, there was no blood on her hands.

She opened the cage and it stepped out cautiously. She spoke to it, telling him that they would accept him and teach him to be a part of this world – and he answered, singing back to her. She offered him comfort, love, and a ladleful of food, and he accepted…well, two of her gifts. He crawled back in and she closed the door, not locking it, but sitting next to him, watching him as he watched her. Inwardly, she knew that there were massive obstacles – the subtle warnings of the sheriff, the taunts of her daughter, and the arrival of her husband – not to mention the fact that the boy was starving to death and she had no idea what to feed it

But for now, she, and her son, shared a quiet moment of peace.

Three months passed. Her son, Edgar, became a young man – the finest young man she had ever met. She felt so proud of him, yet at the same time, a slight guilt – that she had chosen to abandon this beautiful, intelligent, caring boy, and that most of the work had not been done by her, but by him. She had taught him, helped him, and watched over him as he went from a drooling, crawling animal to an educated boy capable of taking care of himself.

She thought all this as Edgar served the tea and sandwiches flawlessly, dressed impeccably in his new suit. Shelley was watching him with particular admiration; her daughter had definitely reversed her stand on Edgar, warming up to him, and he to her.

"You know," Edgar said, taking a sip of tea, "I was reading the newspaper this morning, and I noticed that, beginning tomorrow, the Reverend Billy Hightower is holding a weekend revival. And, as I have just finished reading the Bible, _again_, it would mean so much to me if I could attend."

Meredith felt all her hopes drop. She couldn't look at his hopeful face without feeling a mix of shame and fear. Because yes, Edgar was all civilized now – perhaps more so than the bigoted, narrow-minded people of the town – but who knew that except her and Shelley and Thomas? Edgar had been kept inside the house for three months, devoid of contact with any others. The people still thought of him as they had seen him first – a beast.

Edgar, and Shelley, knew none of this; Shelley, in fact, was bouncing on the chair with excitement. "That would be so cool! You could wear your new suit and I could wear my new dress! Oh my God, I can just _see_ everybody's faces!"

Meredith could too, though her vision was most likely wildly different from her daughter's. She shot a pleading look at her husband. Thomas had whispered to her of his promise to the townsfolk, and when he gave his word, he was quite firm on keeping it. Their marriage vows, for example…

Thomas, catching her look, interrupted his daughter. "Actually, we were thinking that maybe we'd go away on a camping trip for the weekend."

"But we can do that anytime!" Edgar said, not realizing their actual intentions. "The revival is the social event of the season!"

"Oh, Edgar," Meredith sighed, "I feel horrible telling you no, but it just isn't the right time."

Shelley cried, "But the way people talk about him, it's not fair -"

Her father shushed her. Edgar looked from one to the other, and Meredith realized that, staying at home, she had become almost as sheltered as her son. Even she was unaware of the rumors going on.

"But I'm not here to harm them…" Edgar protested softly.

"Edgar, this cannot happen, not just now," Meredith said, resting a hand on his arm.

"When can it happen, Mother?" Shelley asked, staring at her parents. "Next week?"

Meredith sighed. "I don't know…"

"Next month?" Shelley persisted.

"Perhaps…"

"Next year for sure, right?" Shelley didn't look she believed it would happen either, though.

"I can't say."

"Maybe never?" She stood. "May I be excused?"

Meredith said weakly, "You haven't finished your tea -"

Now angrily, "_May I be excused?_" She stomped off.

Edgar watched her go, then stood, pacing in agitation. "It's torture to sit here idly while I'm being slandered in public! I can only imagine what they're saying!"

What they're _saying_, Edgar? He had never thought of what they might want to do should he show his face…

"Something was troubling me recently, watching the world..." Edgar said. "Reading and dreaming and growing mold…but today I looked up to see a medical program…and there behold!" He suddenly grabbed his shirt and raised it up, exposing his stomach. "Look here, _I've got a navel_!"

There was a very confused silence from both wife and husband.

Edgar watched both pleadingly. "It means…I'm someone's child…"

_Oh Edgar_…. Meredith had dropped her head. Her poor son, her poor little boy… He didn't want to get out to defend himself, he wanted to find a family…. She had thought, foolishly, it seemed, that Edgar might accept what he thought was his adoptive mother as his _real_ mother. That he would take them as his family. But he didn't know the truth. He only thought of himself as an orphan, intruding upon them.

"The doctor must have tied it, while my mother smiled."

She hadn't thought he could hurt her anymore, but now it was like a blow to the chest. She had been very far from smiling when he had been born.

"Which means I may be human…" Edgar continued quietly, "complete with family tree. This world may be a home for me."

Her son…

She almost told him right there. She was on the verge of confessing everything to him, of taking him into her arms and assuring him that he was loved, that he had found a home – but then Thomas stood up and snapped, "Edgar! You have made your request and the answer is no!"

"I might as well be in a cage!" Edgar exclaimed furiously. "You must allow me to show myself."

"No!"

Edgar broke down and started to cry. Meredith ran to him, holding him.

"Thomas, can't we just let him go? Once they meet him for themselves, they'll change your minds, don't you think?"

"No, no, no! I've given my word of honor."

She frowned at him. "Well, surely that's not more important than…" She indicated her still-sobbing son.

"I'm putting my foot down. None of us will attend the revival, and that's final."

There was a delicate pause, as Meredith weighed her love for her gentle, innocent son, against her respect for her prideful husband. The decision was made quickly.

"Fine, don't go. Shelley and I will go with Edgar." She turned to Edgar, wiping away his tears. "Edgar, I'm afraid we'll have to go without Dr. Parker, but Shelley and I will be there for you."

"Really? You're not too ashamed of me?" he asked quietly.

"No, no, Edgar, never." She kissed him. "We love you. We all love you so much. Don't you know that?" She wanted him to know this. She wanted him to know that his family, his home, were right here.

"I know." He smiled at her, with all the trust of a child. "I love you too, Mrs. Parker."

* * *

Random Note #1: I found it hard to write Meredith's view. I think I chose the wrong song; "A Home For You" is pretty obvious in its material. So I decided to do "A Home For You (Reprise)", because it felt nice (Look! I'm doing both versions of "A Home For You" for Meredith!), and because I had a sarcastic thought during Edgar's line, "The doctor must have tied it, while my mother smiled." My thought was, "Yeah, right." So I thought, what was Meredith thinking then? And this came out.

Random Note #2: I thought this would be put up late, but apparently not. I broke through my writer's block and am on my way to finishing this series!

Random Note #3: I'm thinking about signing up as a beta reader. Just a little question to my readers: is that a good idea for me?

Random Note #4: Please review!


	5. Chapter 5: Mrs Taylor

Aren't I nice? Here's a new chapter, 2 days ahead of schedule. :) This is Mrs. Taylor, during the scene entitled "Burn, You Freak, Burn".

Warning: I go dangerously close to stream-of-consciousness here.

**#5**

The mob was far too slow for Mrs. Taylor. No, _she_ would search for the murderer of her two children herself. She wasn't afraid of the freak's fangs or deadly venom; no, she had God, and a mother's love, on her side. The dark trees were lit by the flames of her torch. The orange light threw the rough bark into sharp relief, etching the bizarre patterns in her mind.

But then something distracted her. She had been dragging her remaining child with her, intent on having him participate in the execution of the Bat Boy. But his hand had slipped from hers, and now Ron Taylor was nowhere to be seen.

"Ron!" she screamed shrilly. "Ron, honey, stop scaring your momma and come out!"

It was merely a prank – boys liked to do that, they liked to frighten their mothers into thinking something bad had happened to them and then they would pop out and show themselves unharmed – oh yes, she would believe that, only it hadn't worked with Rick, had it? He hadn't recovered, he had spasmed and died without ever getting up again…

"RON! Come on out right now and I promise I won't be mad! RON!"

She waited, willing herself to count – one, two, three…

She couldn't take it. She would find her boy and give him the beating of a lifetime for scaring her so – no, first she would cry and hug him until he wrestled her off him, then she would scream and yell –

She came upon the slaughterhouse and saw Daisy, seeming to guard the front door. Breathlessly Mrs. Taylor asked, "Have you seen Ron? Have you seen my baby?"

Daisy didn't hear the question; she did, however, make an effort to push Mrs. Taylor back. "You best stay back, Mrs. Taylor," she warned. "We got the Bat Boy trapped inside the slaughterhouse!"

It was one of those moments Mrs. Taylor would remember for the rest of her life. All thoughts of her missing son left her as she shrieked, "_And you're just standing there?_" and tossed in her torch.

The entire slaughterhouse, so old and built of rickety, dried wood, went up in flames, the bright glow illuminating the entire landscape. Beside her, Daisy gasped as Mrs. Taylor screamed into the rapidly disintegrating building:

"BURN, BAT BOY, BURN!"

Burn for the children she had lost…

Burn for Ruthie Taylor, her youngest child, her only daughter, her innocent, sweetly curious little girl who had only wanted to go exploring with her brothers – burn for the panic she had felt when she learned that Ruthie was in the hospital, for the nights spent at Ruthie's bedside watching her daughter shriek with nightmares and the days when Ruthie would struggle wildly to walk and to live like she had before – and burn for the unspeakable grief of finding Ruthie Taylor, dead in the midst of recovery…burn for her –

"THAT'S RIGHT! BURN YOU FREAK! BURN!"

Burn for Rick Taylor, her oldest boy, the first child, the one she had worried over while she waited for birth and had fretted over, her firstborn, who had run heedlessly ahead of all her other children, who was the explorer, the first to at everything, the reckless child she had attempted to follow before giving up and leaving him on his own while she watched proudly from a distance – the child she felt would be the one to climb Mt. Everest, to dive to the deepest ocean trenches, to explore the darkest caves…burn for him –

"YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!"

Burn for Ron Taylor, the middle child, the forgotten child, the second son, her only son now, her only _child_, the one who had tagged after his older brother, teased his younger sister, toddled after his mother when she ran to the son who had fallen down the stairs _again_, when she ran this time to the baby girl wailing in her crib – her smartest child, the one who gave her no trouble, the one who could figure things out before everyone else, the one who had screamed for vengeance when his sister was sick in the hospital, who had cried his brother's name when he died…burn for him –

"YOU'LL PAY IN HELL, BAT BOY!"

A burnt, blackened figure stumbled out, and Mrs. Taylor would always remember how her momentary triumph was, even then, underscored by disquiet – because the Bat Boy didn't dress that way, walk that way, _look_ that way –

The boy collapsed, gasping out smoke from his lungs, reddened eyes gazing helplessly out at his killers –

"Mom?"

And then he died.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

She collapsed by her son's side, her son no longer, a burnt, charred corpse that barely resembled her boy, and realized that, yes, she had no children left, she was childless, and deep down she knew that it was her fault – that it was _she_ who had thrown in the flame and killed her own son –

But down that road lay a mind-consuming guilt, a path to insanity, and she could not go that way, she could not acknowledge it without feeling her entire soul heaving. She fought against it – and it turned outward, finding another person to blame, and of course it was –

"Find the Bat Boy! Kill the Bat Boy! Find him! Kill him! Find him! Kill him!"

Mindlessly she joined the mob, intent on the only thing that gave meaning to her life, and for now she forgot that it was her children dead, and that she had been responsible for it; though later she would remember – no, for now, she went after the Bat Boy, in the hopes that sating her vengeance would also end her grief.

* * *

Random Note #1: I wanted to counterpoint Meredith with another mom who is probably as devoted to her children as she is (more so, in my opinion). Really, it's just chance that we're on Meredith's side and not Mrs. Taylor's.

Random Note #2: What's Mrs. Taylor's first name? (Something starting with R, probably). I always thought it funny that this role is always played in drag (as it was in my school's production).


	6. Chapter 6: Ron and Ruthie Taylor

I'm on a Taylor streak! Here's Ron and Ruthie Taylor, from right before "Hold Me, Bat Boy" and "Mrs. Taylor's Lullaby", right up to "Comfort and Joy". (Though not necessarily in that order...)

Another Warning: This does not go chronologically. But if you've survived Mrs. Taylor's near-stream-of-consciousness monologue, you can get through this.

**#6**

Afterwards, Rick would tell Ron that the worst thing in the world for Rick to do – even worse than telling his mother that he had accidentally dropped little Ron so that he went rolling down the stairs, and then adding that he had _also_ dropped baby Ruthie as well – was to tell their mother that Ruthie was in the hospital and that it was their fault for dragging her along and letting a Bat Boy bite her.

Ron had glumly agreed. They didn't like to get their mother worried. After all, she had practically raised them, ever since their father had abandoned them soon after conceiving Ruthie. More importantly, Rick would say, their mom could be really scary when she was trying to protect them.

It was lonely in the house for Ron. He and his sister had been closer in age than he and Rick. Actually, they had been born about a year apart – virtually twins at times. That meant a lot of fighting – sometimes violent bickering over who had to eat what food, who got to sleep in the top bunk, who got to play with what toys, and who was wearing whose clothing – but also a lot of friendship. Heck, Ruthie had been closer to Ron than some of his friends had been. Even if she was a girl.

Their mother kept up a constant vigil at her bedside. Rick and Ron had to go home and make their own dinners, clean up their own messes, wash their own clothes…It made both boys angry, how this freak had so destroyed their lives. But they never blamed their mother – not _their_ mother, who was so worried about little Ruthie and who was sacrificing work and money to stay by her daughter's side.

So now, he and Rick – and only them two, the absence of Ruthie skipping down the sidewalk with them leaving a gaping hole in their afternoon – dropped their things off at the local hospital, spending their time with their sick baby sister. They tried to do their homework, Ron especially, but their sister's writhing and screaming was distracting, to say the least.

"Monster…"

"Oh, my baby," Mrs. Taylor whimpered, patting her forehead while glaring at the sheriff, who had steadfastly refused to kill the ugly creature.

"Take it easy Ruthie," Rick said; Ron had never seen his brother closer to tearing up.

"Calm down, Ruthie," Ron joined in.

"Listen to your brothers, honey," Mrs. Taylor said. "Shh…I know…Try to save your strength."

The doctor, relieved at finally having a quiet moment, took the opportunity to inform Mrs. Taylor of Ruthie's condition. "I don't understand why her blood isn't clotting," he said, "but other than that she's doing all right. She's going to be fine, Mrs. Taylor."

Mrs. Taylor sniffed, "Thank you, doctor."

His sister's life no longer at stake, Rick turned on the sheriff, still standing nervously at the doorway. "We want that thing dead, Sheriff!"

"Yeah!" Ron yelled. He hadn't liked that freak to begin with. Poor Ruthie – she had always been the most trusting of them. He had known it was a monster as soon as he'd seen it.

The sheriff grunted, "Now boys, I understand."

"I can't believe Dr. Parker didn't kill it!" Mrs. Parker snapped, still cradling her girl.

Ron rolled his eyes. He had seen Meredith Parker once – she was a softie. She hated putting down the strays. Once, Dr. Parker had hired Rick to start gassing the cats and dogs nobody wanted, but Mrs. Parker had kicked him out – 'he looked too happy doing it,' was her explanation. _She_ was probably the reason it wasn't dead.

"It's in their house!" Rick growled. He had come back a few hours ago to tell them about it. Ron could imagine it clearly – Rick, at the house, with Shelley Parker, taunting the thing in a cage, where it belonged. The thing would have attacked him, just like it tried with Ruthie, but Rick wouldn't have backed down – he would have beat it up. Rick had wanted to bring his gun, but Ron had talked him out of it. He was glad about it now. After all, Ruthie was going to be okay, and he just wanted to hurt it a bit – make it pay, but not make it die. The Taylor kids weren't murderers.

Rick and Mrs. Taylor obviously had different ideas.

"Why does that bat freak get special attention?" Mrs. Taylor demanded.

"Dr. Parker did put him in a cage," the sheriff said placatingly.

"That cage'll never hold him!" Rick exclaimed.

"What if he gets out and attacks us again?" Ron asked, remembering his sister's vivid nightmares. What if it had gotten a taste for Taylor blood?

Mrs. Taylor shrieked and bear hugged her two sons. "Oh no! Don't you say that Ron! Not my babies…" She was kidding them on their heads. "I couldn't bear it! I just couldn't bear it if that beast got out and hurt one of my children…"

She was sobbing. Rick and Ron comforted her. Ruthie continued moaning.

"Monster…bat Monster, bat monster, bat monster!"

The Taylors were tough, though. They got by as the weeks rolled on. The three remaining family members practically lived in the hospital, cheering when Ruthie's blood started acting the way it should and whooping when she finally opened her eyes.

Sometimes Rick would drop by. He was spending less time with the Parkers, a fact which made Ron feel strangely happy about. He attributed it to the Bat Boy – they were the family housing the monster, after all. Sometimes though, Rick would come back with stories Shelley was telling him – always stuff about _how much the Bat Boy was learning_, or _how beautifully he was talking_, or other BS that made the two brothers laugh.

"Quiet, you two!" Mrs. Taylor hissed at them once. "Ruthie's waking."

Their little sister blinked and murmured, "Mama?"

"Oh my baby!" Mrs. Taylor almost crushed her daughter. "She's awake, she's talking! Boys, come over here and talk to your sister…"

"Hey Ruthie…"

"Nice to see you awake…"

They mumbled awkwardly, but it didn't matter – Ruthie seemed to light up when she saw them.

"What happened to the Bat Boy?" she asked a little later.

Ron, being the only one around at the time, snorted. "He's with the Parker's."

She narrowed her eyes. "The Parker's?"

"Yeah, they're raising it. Like a pet or something." He laughed. "You know Shelley Parker? Rick's girlfriend? She keeps going on about it – it's really annoying Rick…"

"What? What does she say?"

"She says it's walking and talking and stuff – do you believe that?" Ron lowered his voice, a thought occurring to him. "What do you think? You think Shelley and that freak are…getting together?"

Ruthie squealed with laughter. "It's an animal!" She stifled a giggle. "Like if they got married…how would they… you know?" She made an obscene gesture.

Brother and sister suddenly burst into nervous laughter. They knew their older brother was going out with the girl, but that didn't mean they had to like it. And the thought had crossed Ron's mind more than once.

"Ron!" a voice snapped. It was their mother. "Stop tiring your sister out!"

"Sorry."

Mrs. Taylor settled herself by her daughter's bedside. "Now, Ruthie, you're feeling better, darling?"

"Yes Mama."

"Do you think you can handle a night alone? The revival's coming and I have to get you and your brothers all prepared…"

Ruthie nodded eagerly. The Taylor family had never missed a revival. They would all be going, even if they had to wheel Ruthie in on a wheelchair.

"All right, dear." Mrs. Taylor kissed her. "Call the nurse if you need anything."

"Yes Mama."

"If you feel scared or something, call me then."

"Sure Mama."

"Sleep well, okay? Tomorrow's a big day."

"I will, Mama."

All three left her, sleeping soundly.

"You think she'll be all right?" Mrs. Taylor asked her sons, looking back.

"She'll be fine, Mom," Rick assured her.

"She's strong, Ruthie is. She'll take anything," Ron added.

Mrs. Taylor hugged them both. "I just know tomorrow will be a perfect day! A revival, Ruthie all ready for healing by the Reverend – and no Bat Boy!"

They all nodded, thinking ahead…

In her bed, Ruthie stirred when she sensed someone nearby.

"Mama?"

* * *

_A few days earlier…_

* * *

Ron and Ruthie threw down their backpacks while Rick played over his messages.

"Hey Rick…" Ron and Ruthie rolled their eyes as Shelley Parker's voice, crackly from the answering machine, filled the room. Rick, however, had a goofy little smile fixed on his face.

"I miss you already…" Ron and Ruthie made vomiting gestures. Rick glared at them. "My mom and dad said you could come over tonight…We could get together, go somewhere, have some fun …It'll be great…Okay then, see you later…Call me…"

The message ended. Rick grinned at his siblings.

"So you're going over?" Ron asked, scowling.

"Guess so."

"You said we could go to the cave today!" Ruthie cried.

"So? I say a lot of things."

She glared at him. "You promised us!"

_Stupid Parker girl_, she thought, _tearing _their_ older brother away from them…_

"I also promised Shel that I would go over when she said I could," he explained, lolling in his chair. "Anyway, what's your rush? We can go to the cave anytime."

He was acting like the _cave_ was the reason they went there – idiotic, oblivious, lying Rick…

Ruthie checked the doorway for their mother. "Rick! Come on…you said we could go the cave for…other fun?"

Rick blinked. "What?"

She dropped her voice. "You said you have…a new source…"

"Huh?"

"You know…" She made an inhaling gesture. "That stuff…"

"What the hell are you talking about, Ruthie?"

She exploded, "The dope! You said you found a new dealer who's been giving you better stuff than the old one! And you said we could try it! Tonight! At the cave!"

The cave was the only place they would smoke it – nobody from town went _there_, after all the rumors of cave monsters Ron and Rick had manufactured.

"Oh, _that_," Rick said, laughing. "Come on, another time -"

"_RICK!_"

"Geez, alright! Sheesh, you might've said so earlier! Ron, grab the ropes and the lights. We're going spelunking!"

Ron smiled at their younger sister. This, at least, was something that Parker girl would never get to do.

Rick chose that moment to say, "Hey, you think Shel would be up for coming -"

"_NO!_"

Ruthie was still fuming when she reached the caves. Damn, but she really disliked that Shelley Parker. Lording it over them all because she had a mom _and_ a dad, and a dad who hadn't ditched their mom and taken all the money when he had left. She thought she was so great because _her_ dad was the town veterinarian and her mom got to stay home, while _their_ mom had to work at a sleazy restaurant to support them.

Everything had been so much better before Rick had suddenly started dating her. Then they had been the _Taylor's_ – their hardworking mom, who struggled so much to make ends meet; Rick Taylor, the older brother, the biggest and strongest guy in the school the one girls seemed to swoon over, the one Ruthie's friends giggled about; Ron Taylor, the average middle child, the smart one, their mom always used to say, the one who would go to college and make something of himself; and finally, her, Ruthie, the little one, the baby, the pretty one, the girl who break a lot of young men's hearts…

Ruthie never questioned her mother's dreams. Sometimes, they were all they had.

"We're here!" Rick called down to them. He put on his helmet, flicking on the light, entering the cave.

_Shelley Parker wouldn't go the cave_, Ruthie thought to herself. _Shelley Parker was a pretty-girl who would worry about breaking her fingernails and getting her hair mussed._

"Pass me that rope, will you, Ron?" Rick yelled.

They made their way down. And down. And down.

"Rick, are you sure this is the right place?" Ruthie asked.

"Nope. This is totally new."

"_What_?"

"Relax! Have some fun! We're in unexplored territory!"

She gulped. "If you say so."

Ron touched her in the dark, and she yelped. "Rick knows what he's doing," he told her, completely assured of his older brother's omniscience. "You'll be smoking your bong before you know it."

"You too," she said, feeding more rope.

He shook his head; Ruthie saw the light on his helmet wobble from side to side. "Not me," he said. "Doctors say dope kills your brain cells. I gotta be prepared when I take those SATs."

She nodded. Ron was so smart at times! Just like Mom said. He would get the highest scores on those big tests he was always talking about – and then he would go to Yale or something, and show them all what the Taylor family was made of.

They hit the floor, running their lights over the walls.

"Whoa…look at his!" Rick whooped.

"We've never been this deep before," Ruthie murmured, trying to quell her nervousness.

Ron sniffed. "What's that smell?"

His siblings inhaled, then shrugged, though it couldn't be seen in the darkness. "I don't know," Rick replied. "But this cave _rocks_!"

His brother and sister exclaimed, "Fully!"

Ron, always the cautious one, tugged on his rappel. "Are we gonna run out of rope?"

Rick answered, "Nope. We have _got_ to celebrate going deeper than any human being has gone before."

Ruthie smiled. Finally!

She took another look around. She and her brothers had been to the cave multiple times – as children, for exploration; as teenagers, to get away from the house – but this area was completely new to her.

"Where are we, Rick?" she asked.

"That was a major vertical," he explained. "This could be virgin territory!"

Ron snickered. "Virgin…"

Ruthie crossed to the edge. "It keeps going! Straight down!"

They should have brought a camera, taken pictures! Then they could sell it to National Geographic, and get into the papers…

_What do you think of that?_ she imagined herself saying to everyone. _Look at what the Taylor family can do._

"This is a _total_ scoop!" Rick exclaimed.

"All right, who's packing?" Ruthie asked, turning away from the dizzying abyss.

"Reading my mind," Rick said; Ruthie could almost hear him grinning.

Ron wandered away, true to his word. His light bounced over the damp edges of the cave while Rick and Ruthie lit up their bong.

Just as Ruthie took her first gulp they heard a screech and, an instant later, Ron's yell.

"The cave monster! The cave monster!"

"Oh, shut up Ron!" Rick yelled, turning back to his lighter.

"I saw him Rick! I swear!"

"There's no such thing as a cave monster, Ron," Ruthie scolded. Did he forget that it was he and Rick who had made up that stupid myth?

Rick mocked him, "Oooh…It's the cave monster, Ron! The scary cave monster!" Then, "Whoa!" There was a scramble to turn the lights back on.

"What?" Ruthie cried, huddling closer to her brothers.

"It was over there! But then I turned back and…"

Ruthie felt…something. She spun about. "Over here!"

Their lights spun about, alighting on something pale – then it flashed out of sight.

"Here!"

"No, go there!"

Again they saw it. They ran, unconsciously herding it, the lights passing over the thing with increasing frequency, until they had it caught in the glare of their lights.

But what was 'it'?

"What is it?" Ron breathed.

Ruthie cried out, "It's some deformed kid!"

"It's a Bat Boy," Rick whispered reverently. "It's okay, little guy. I'm Rick Taylor. This is my brother Ron, and my sister, Ruthie."

Ruthie moved closer, seeing the frightened boy clearly. He twitched nervously back. She wanted to giggle. It was cute, in its own ugly way.

"Can you say _Ruthie_?" she said.

"Shut up, Ruthie," Ron said. He was nervous; he did not like this weird, freaky being.

_It's just like us, though_, Ruthie thought. _Just a funny, scared kid, like we were on our first days of school – only he didn't have Rick around to keep the bullies off…_

"We are totally keeping this thing!" Rick yelled, pictures of National Geographic running through his head.

Ron, making an effort to be nicer, said, "We won't hurt you."

"Take my hand," Rick offered. "Come on."

_It must be hungry_, Ruthie realized. She dug around in her pocket and found a pack of chips. "See if it likes Fritos." It sniffed at her, and she smiled. It was _adorable_. "See?" Maybe they could take it home! Mom would take care of it. "Fritos?" And then they would show the town their new brother –

Then it leaped. Not at the chips, but at her.

"AAAAAHHHHHHH!"

* * *

"_Dr. Parker? What are you doing here?"_

"_It's not me, Ruthie. The Bat Boy is doing this to you. He's a beast. He's a monster. He can't control himself." _

* * *

She felt a sting in her neck that quickly became a fire.

"I'm bit! I'm bit!"

She heard her brothers jumping at it, felt it come off –

"Ruthie's bit! Ruthie's bit!"

Stomping, screams, and fright –

"Get him, Ron!"

"I'm getting him!"

Why had it bitten her? Why was it so mean? She had only wanted to help –

* * *

"_We're all going to miss you very much."_

* * *

The pain worsened – it spread to her head, her chest, a heavy pressure until she couldn't breathe –

_

* * *

She was dying! She didn't want to die!_

* * *

Mama, help me! Make it better!

_

* * *

And everything faded._

_

* * *

_

Did you survive? Ha ha...

Random Note #1: My school production made Ron a girl. It was a major shock to me to find out Ron was meant to be a boy. I had to rethink a lot of stuff.

Random Note #2: Ruthie was older than I thought, based on the script, so this went through a major rewrite. I thought about rewriting all her scenes in my other fic, but hey, it's an AU, I can make Ruthie younger if I wanted to...

Random Note #3: My school cut out all the drug references, so I had to add that in as well. (They also cut out the "Children, Children" scene, because apparently, rape and incest and murder and throwing a bucket of blood all over the lead actor is just FINE, but a little bit of sex is VERY VERY BAD and MUST be censored.)

Random Note #4: I expect you're all tired of random characters' viewpoints, so I have a treat for you next chapter... ;) Stay tuned!


	7. Chapter 7: Beginnings

I'm bored again. Here's another chapter. This was very enjoyable to write. That's all I'm going to say...

To shelleyedgarlove, I don't know it you're one of my friends I was spamming, or just a very nice person who reviewed, but this is for you :). I would have released it later, but hey, why not?

**#7**

"Whoa. It's huge."

Shelley cast the light over the cave walls, rugged and dripping with condensation. Above her was a stony ceiling, small ledges and the beginnings of stalactites jutting out at her. The only sounds were her footsteps, the quiet drip-drip of water, and quiet creaks in the distance.

"I should've come here sooner." Her voice echoed off the vast walls. She wondered if there were rocks elsewhere, and if she might cause an avalanche that would bury her – she shook off the frightening thought and continued talking to herself, her voice filling the silence and comforting her.

"No wonder Rick comes here so often. This place is awesome."

She walked further in, until the light from the mouth of the cave was far behind her.

"How far in does it go? Should I -"

She stopped suddenly and shook her head, wondering if her ears were working. She could have sworn she heard something further in, something that sounded a lot like…

Singing.

"Hello?" Her voice was firm; she wasn't scared, not yet anyway. "Anybody here?" She ventured in, the beam of her flashlight swinging quickly over the cave. "My name's Shelley Parker. Is there anyone there?"

The singing continued. Perhaps the mysterious person hadn't heard her. She strained her ears. It didn't sound like there were any recognizable words to it. Just random noises…though it was sung with a soft crooning that made it eerily beautiful.

There was the briefest pause as the melody bounced off the cave walls before Shelley heard it again as an echo, with the empty, hollow quality echoes always acquired. She heard the mysterious singer call out with it, harmonizing with it.

She moved around a large boulder and suddenly stopped when she saw the thing ahead of her.

It was a boy. The strangest, funniest looking boy she had ever encountered.

He was ghastly pale in the light, bald and with ears that were clearly pointed. An elf, Shelley thought briefly, and stifled her giggle. Elves didn't crouch like an animal.

The funny sounds – she wasn't sure she could call them singing anymore – were coming from him. He didn't seem aware of her presence, or of the light on his back, so intent was his focus.

"Hello?" Shelley called, stepping right behind him.

He leaped a foot in the air and spun about. Unfortunately the light was still aimed at him, the result being that he was momentarily blinded. He yelped and skittered backwards.

"Whoa! Hey! I'm not going to hurt you." Shelley instinctively dropped to his level. Childhood days spent in her father's lab had given her an innate sense of how to act around animals – which was what she assumed him to be. She held out a hand, beckoning to him. "Come on. Come on out little guy."

The thing – boy? – was just in the range of the beam; she could see his arms and legs but not much else. No, she could see his eyes, which glowed faintly at her.

She waited, hand still out, beckoning to him. After a tense moment he entered into the light, cautiously, watching her closely for any threatening movements.

When he was close enough she moved the light so that part of it was shining on her, part on him; she did not know that he could see her perfectly well in the darkness.

"Hi there. I'm Shelley." She moved slowly and touched his shoulder; instantly he jumped back, but not as far. There was now a curiosity to his movements. She wondered if Rick and his siblings had ever encountered him. She doubted it; knowing Rick, he would have been shouting the news all over the school the next day.

When he was close – in fact, even closer than before – she said, "You don't talk, do you?"

He tilted back at the sound of her voice; she thought she saw his pointy ears…twitch. Like a cat, or something.

"Or maybe you can't talk," she said, trying to sound casual. He leaned towards her hand and started to sniff her fingers. "But I heard you singing. Is that what it was?" Her voice was low and gentle, the way her mother sounded when she talked to frightened strays. "Or humming? Ooooohhhh…."

He sat up at her attempt, then sang back to her. She laughed and continued talking. "What the heck are you, anyway? A boy or some kind of – Whoa!" He had licked her fingers, and she jerked her hand back when she felt his wet tongue touch her. "Are you licking me?"

He, in turn, had run out of the beam of light, but she could see his shadowy silhouette. She waited, and his interest in this new person brought him back.

"You haven't even heard people talking, have you?" she continued as if nothing had happened. He sniffed her hand once more, then moved up her arm. She started to get a bit nervous at this point but managed to continue talking. "I wonder if you could learn. Well, I guess that depends on…on…"

Now he was too close. He was at her shoulder, still sniffing (and occasionally licking) with great concentration.

"Okay, how about we move back a bit…" Of course he didn't understand her and, if anything, came closer, until he was right up to her neck.

He licked her again.

"That's enough!" She shoved his head away and shot the light into his face. He yelped and jumped clear, watching her intensely.

"You're one weird kid, you got that?" she said, breathing a bit shivery. "Now you just stay there -" She pointed. "-and be a good little bat boy, or whatever you are."

Actually, Bat Boy seemed the appropriate word.

"Bat Boy," she said decisively. "You're a Bat Boy, aren't you?"

He crept back into the light, seeming relieved that she wasn't yelling anymore.

"Well, I'm Shelley. Shelley. S-H-E-L-L-E-Y." That did absolutely nothing. "Okay, _Shelley_. Ssshhhheeellll-lllleeeeyyyy. Shell. Lee. Shelley. Can you say Shelley?"

He cocked his head to one side. She sighed.

"We have all day, Bat Boy. Now repeat after me…Shelley. _Shelley_."

He cooed at her.

Okay, time to try a different tack. "Never mind my name…" He made the same noise and she resisted the temptation to face palm herself. "Okay…your name. Bat Boy. _Bat_ Boy. Bat _Boy_. Bat. Boy. Baaaattttt. Booooyyyy. Bat Boy…"

He grunted back at her and she groaned.

"Never mind talking, okay? Um…here, take my hand." She reached for him; he burrowed his face into her palm. "No, I said take it…with your _hand_…" She grabbed his hand. He cocked his head to one side. When she tried to pull him forward, he slammed on to the floor.

"Ugh…." She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Alright…just follow me. Can you follow me?" She stood and walked backward, watching him. He followed hesitantly, lifting his head as they neared the entrance.

The two emerged out of the cave. Shelley sighed; the sky was clear and cloudless, the sun just starting to set.

"See? The outside," Shelley said. The boy stayed back in the darkness, watching nervously. "Come on out," she beckoned. He didn't move. "Come on…nothing to be scared of." Still he stayed. She grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. He hissed at the sunlight, struggling slightly. "Oh, get used to it," Shelley scoffed. "Come on…"

Fully outside, the Bat Boy blinked in the light. As soon as Shelley let go he leaped back towards the cave. After a few seconds, though, he came back out…then back in…then stayed, half in, half out, hovering indecisively.

"You are one strange little critter," Shelley laughed. "Mom's going to go nuts over you." She patted him. He crooned, leaning into her touch.

But should she bring him down? She watched him, as he sniffed at the dried grass and yelped when a fluttering leaf landed near him, the sight making her grin. But still – he looked completely incongruous, she thought to herself, as he tumbled into a tree.

"Ouch." She helped him up. "You okay?" He got back up, none the worse for wear.

He leaped away again, sniffing at a tree. And she had a sudden vision of him, coming down with her to the town. Only – he was completely clueless – totally innocent of how people might treat him. He might learn to be like one of the townspeople and naively try to fit in, but they would attack him – just for looking a bit different. She _couldn't_ bring him down – not yet.

Maybe this was that maturity her mother was always telling her about.

She yelled his name and he scrambled over, gazing attentively into her face. "Okay then, Bat Boy, I've changed my mind. You're going to stay here until I figure what to do with you, okay?"

She checked her watch. "Which I will decide tomorrow. Because it is time for me to get home.…" She started to slide down the hilltop, but his mournful call stopped her.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she said, looking back towards him. He wavered, swaying back and forth, wondering if he should follow.

"No." Shelley pulled him back in, pointing at the ground. "Stay here. Here."

He must have understood, plopping his bottom at the exact spot.

She breathed a sigh. "Good. Now don't leave, okay? You got that?"

He glanced at her, then suddenly stood up. Before she could leap back he had moved towards her and licked her cheek.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, patting him again as he went to a position more comfortable for him. "Wait for me, okay? I _will_ be back. In fact…" She fiddled around in her pockets and brought out a handkerchief. "Keep this, okay? I'll come back for it tomorrow. Got it?"

He took it, sniffing at the funny white thing. She gave him a final pat before leaving, not looking back.

He watched her as she trotted down the hill, then went back to his cave. It suddenly seemed a bit bigger, a bit lonelier. But at the same time, he had something to look forward to. It was a new experience – an exciting one.

He wandered back to his cave, still holding the cloth, humming to himself once more.

The possibilities were endless.

* * *

Cute? Too fluffy? Tell me what you think!

Random Note #1: Broke through my writer's block, though the chapter is no longer as I had intended. I'm actually not done with this series (yeah, yeah, promise to finish before submitting broken, so sure me...), but I'm getting quite close now.

Random Note #2: I get lots of hits but no reviews. :( Why is that? This seems especially so with Thunderclouds. I know it's not my best writing (yes, I'll admit it - I really do think it sucks horribly at times), but a review to help me out would be nice. (I feel a bit hypocritical about this shameless begging, because I often read and don't review...though I'm trying to change! But I no longer read so much FanFiction; it's more about writing now. It might be because my favorite fandom right now has a total of 9 stories...)


	8. Chapter 8: Dr Parker

Well, back to the other characters. We're about halfway through this little series, so I thought the previous one might break the flow a bit.

Anyway, here's Dr. Parker, during "Dance With Me, Darling", with a little bit of "Revelations" thrown in.

**#8**

"_Oops."_

_The chemical splashed down Meredith's front. She jumped back slightly, the potent liquid staining her pristinely white lab coat._

"_I'm so sorry," he said, trying to wipe it off._

_She smiled at his clumsy attempts. "It's all right."_

"_I'm such a klutz," he muttered; the chemical, for all its liquidity, was curiously sticky._

"_It's not a problem, really," Meredith responded, pulling his hand away,_

_He paused, looking up at her. She gazed back curiously, still holding his hand._

_He remembered, suddenly and for no particular reason, an optical illusion – those silly ones like the two-face/one-vase kind, where two images could be seen, if one merely switched their perception. It was the only experience that could describe this – as if he was seeing Meredith in a new light._

"_You are so beautiful," he murmured._

_Shock crossed her face; they had promised each other they would wait chastely until their wedding day. She attempted to pull away but he grabbed her, a hunger unlike any he had ever known racing through him._

_Was it truly unknown?_

"_Love me, Meredith," he muttered, pulling her closer and kissing her roughly. It didn't quench the desire in him, only amplified it._

_He had wanted to hold her like this, since the day she entered his office, a shy young woman just barely out of girlhood who had stared at him with mixed fear and respect –_

_He had wanted to kiss her, to touch her, and to feel her touch him –_

_To hear her cry out when he entered her –_

"_Thomas no!"_

_The chemical was not the culprit. It only heightened, sharpened his hidden needs –_

"_Thomas -"_

_Her screams excited him._

"_NO!"_

_He forced her down –_

"_LOVE ME!"_

_Sometime later, he removed himself from the table. His clothing was rumpled and dirty, his head hazy. He wondered how it had gotten that way. Normally he was quite fastidious about his appearance, especially in the lab. One miscalculation or spill could kill you if you weren't –_

_Spill._

_His memories rushed back in a terrifyingly fast rush. Oh God, Meredith!_

_He ran from the building, though he could not escape his memories. They pursued him, hounded him, and even dulled with the after effects of the fiendish chemical he still knew the unspeakable thing he had done –_

_He had violated, forced Meredith –_

_She would never love him again._

_He found her, nearly fell over her, near her home, lying near death between the bodies of her parents. He carried her away, leaving the two other corpses behind for the police to puzzle over._

_He would have to care for her, to nurse her back to health. He almost looked forward to it; perhaps it would show the depths of his love for her._

_He lay her in his bed, dressing her wounds and checking for fever. Only when he was sure that she would recover did he leave his house._

_He made his way to the lab. There inside lay bottles of hormones, racks of test tubes filled with failed experiments and potential successes. Last, he looked at the innocently colorless chemical he had spilled all over Meredith. He looked at what should have been the defining breakthrough of his career._

_Then he picked up a shovel and destroyed every one of the tubes._

_

* * *

_

_Present day…_

The deer flicked its ears back. It was female, with large eyes and that fragility one always associates with deer. It stepped so lightly he thought that, if he were to investigate its path, he would find no sign of it at all.

He was getting poetic in his old age, Dr. Parker thought, shaking his head as he cocked his gun.

He must have made some noise only the doe heard, for right before he pressed the trigger it stiffened and leaped away into the trees.

"Damn!" He put the gun away, feeling the first raindrops. A storm was coming. Well, he had two geese already. Perhaps Meredith would be pleased… But he had to stop thinking that way. At some point, early in his marriage, he had hoped that the site of him bringing back food for his family would restore Meredith's love. Now it was mostly an excuse to get away from the house.

He managed to make his way back home, despite the torrents of rain and the muddy roads. The lights were completely out, and his home was no exception. He stumbled his way amongst the furniture, calling out to his nonexistent family, then banged into something large and solid.

"Aah! What the -" In the flash of lightning, he saw what he had crashed into. "What's the big cage doing out? Another stray?" He tripped his way over to a candle and lit it. But it was not a stray in the cage. It was –

"Sweet wounded Jesus! How did you get here?"

_I thought it was gone forever._

He walked around the cage, noting its features. It was the right age, so far as he could tell. Pointy ears, pale skin… he forced its head up and opened its mouth. Fangs, check. Definitely made for climbing, hopping on ledges, hanging upside down in caves. Yep, this was the real deal.

It moaned weakly, and Dr. Parker shook his head. Starving too. He would have thought Meredith would have guessed its primary diet. But perhaps she was in denial… Anyway, even he couldn't fathom his wife's thoughts sometimes.

He certainly hadn't been able to the day of their daughter's birth (_and son's_, a voice hissed, but he shook it off easily – he had been doing _that_ for years).

He pulled out his syringe, filled it with a lethal, fast-killing liquid, and moved to the Bat Boy. "Well," he said, "this'll put one of us out of our misery." He bared its neck; it didn't even resist.

"Thomas, no!"

He nearly killed it right there, so startling was Meredith's shriek.

"What?" he snapped.

She ran to his side, grabbing at his arm. "Please! Don't."

Exasperated, he asked her, "Well, why not?" and leaned in to inject it. Its huge eyes seemed to gaze straight through him. He looked away, disbelievingly. It had _her_ eyes…

"Please!" Meredith cried. "Let him live! He's just a boy!"

"You know what this is, don't you?" he hissed. There was more behind that one question than either cared to acknowledge.

_You know this is _your_ son – the one _you_ demanded I kill?_

Meredith's eyes flickered uncertainly, making him wish, once more, that he could read her mind. "Yes, I know," she murmured. He wondered exactly _what_ she knew. "You could save him if you wanted to, couldn't you?"

"Are you kidding me? The ranchers will go nuts! There's no way around this. Sorry little fella." The Bat Boy, who had been watching with such intensity, managed a feeble struggle as he forced its head back and placed the needle to its neck. It was an animal, and animals always knew when death was coming.

"No please! I'm begging you!" Meredith screamed, falling to her knees. "You can't just kill him like an animal! Please, please!"

He had never seen her beg so hard, and it made him suspicious.

"So now you've got all this love in your heart, do you?" he accused her. The resentments of twenty years of marriage were threatening to spill out: days when she had refused to touch him or let him touch her; days when he had pounded the door of her bedroom when she locked him out; of telling everyone in town that _yes_, everything was _fine_ between him and Meredith, of trying to forget his troubles at the bars, the taverns…

_Did you marry me merely to provide a father for your child?_

_Why did you try and force me to kill an infant – an infant that was _my_ creation?_

_Have you been unfaithful? Have you been…seeing, _loving_ another?_

_Are you going to leave me?_

_Why did you deny me love, when that it all I have ever felt for you?_

"You have to let him live. We can take care of him."

He asked her, angrily, "Where'd you find the room for all this love in your heart all of a sudden?"

She turned away. "We have to let him live," she repeated.

"Who do you love?"

She whispered, "Oh please, Thomas…"

"Me, right? It's me you love."

_More than this freak, right? More than your own daughter?_

"Of course I do," she assured him. "I'm your wife."

He almost snorted. It was _that_ excuse again – the same one she'd used when kicking him out of their bedroom, or after one of his drinking bouts, or heck, when she was trying to save a stray that had outstayed its welcome. No, he'd heard it enough to never believe it again.

"You haven't been a wife to me in years."

"I could be."

He could have sworn time froze.

"I…could be," she said again, eyes wide.

He swallowed, anticipation running through him. "Tonight?" he whispered. She hesitated. "Tonight?" He almost yelled this to her, aware suddenly of the festering desire for her rumbling beneath the surface.

She flinched, backed away. "Let me get you a drink…"

He grabbed her hand. "Dance with me, Meredith…"

She groaned. "Oh no…"

"Please Meredith…" he crooned, cradling her closer. He swirled her around, lost in memories – of a love that seemed to come straight from a romance, of whispered secrets between an assistant and a doctor…and a hope, that she would remember those moments and recall his devotion to her that had continued throughout the years.

"Yes Thomas…" She plastered on a smile but he didn't notice; nor did he see her quiet attempts to take the syringe from his hands. All he could think was, _She knew, she did know!_

"So you'll do it?" she asked.

"So _you'll_ do it?"

She twisted the syringe, now secure in her hands. "Yes."

"Tell me you love me, Meredith."

"I…will." She smiled brightly and moved away.

Dr. Parker regarded the Bat Boy, who stared back distrustfully. "Did you hear that?" he said to it happily. "I guess that makes us pals!" Because right now she was hesitant – but soon he would sweep her away into their bedroom – and she would love him once more.

It blinked back blankly, then curled into itself.

Well, who cared what it was anymore? Meredith had come back to him, because of this strange, inexplicable creature. He had to repay it. He slit open the throats of the geese, dragged out the Bat Boy, and fed it. It screeched and collapsed, tired but full.

Mind filled with Meredith, Dr. Parker swept the Bat Boy into his arms, feeling an overwhelming affection for everyone – even this thing. "Dance with me, darling…and be forever mine!"

And with one last whirl he had the Bat Boy secured into his cage, before he himself raced up the stairs to his waiting wife.

* * *

Random Note #1: This originally was meant to include THREE songs: "Dance With Me, Darling", "Comfort and Joy", and "I Imagine You're Upset", since they all show the three moods Dr. Parker goes through - but it was quite difficult to do, and would have been very long.

Random Note #2: Dr. Parker was sort of hard for me to get started on, but once I did it was surprisingly easy to try and understand him. (Unlike Meredith, whom I thought would be easy to write and who turned out to be quite difficult, darn her.)

Random Note #3: I am very happy to say that I am finished writing this entire series! Whoohoo, me!


	9. Chapter 9: Sheriff, Mayor, Reverend

Once again I urge all of you, if you haven't done so already, to check out Mystic Water Bender3's wonderful Bat Boy fic, Retribution. It was just updated!

Back to some of the lesser known characters. Here we have Sheriff Reynolds, Mayor Maggie, and Reverend Hightower. This takes place alongside "A Home For You (Reprise)" - a parallel story, if you will.

**#9**

While the choir finished setting up the multitude of chairs previously used for the town meeting and now being used for the revival, taking place in a few days, Sheriff Reynolds visited the mayor in her office.

It was not a large or opulent place; the town of Hope Falls was tiny, and its residents unable to afford building a city hall for their beloved mayor. In fact, it was connected directly to the town's meetinghouse, which the mayor always attested was to her advantage, since she could easily get anything she had forgotten, and without disrupting the process. The sheriff himself was not so lucky. The town jail was devoted entirely to just that – the jail, leaving one room for the officers and nothing for the sheriff, who had been forced to cope with rowdy young men interrupting his attempts at paperwork.

The office was the mayor's domain, perhaps more so than her own home. It felt like the mayor, anyhow – papers everywhere as she bounded from problem to problem in her little town, thick files of reports spread haphazardly over the desk, even a few meat hooks, and, tucked away into a corner with a residual air of being jealously guarded, small tokens of appreciation from the townsfolk.

Appreciation that seemed to be rapidly drying up, what with the multiple crises of the dried up coalmines, the dying cows, and the rumors of the Bat Boy flying around the town. Mayor Maggie had been head of the town for several consecutive terms, but even the Sheriff was starting to wonder if she would survive her next election.

Well, she didn't have much to worry about…yet. Her election was up in two years; his, two weeks. He had kept the job almost as long as the Mayor; he knew this town! He was the only one who could protect the town.

Especially from itself.

The mayor came barreling in, her hair frazzled, holding several more papers. She glanced up at the sheriff but didn't question his presence, too intent on her own problems.

As for the mayor herself – she was intent on her town's problems. She was a fierce woman, unmarried, no children – but that only meant her unharnessed maternal instincts were gathered towards the town itself. Her anger at the ranchers belied her own worries, worries that were fueled by memories of other near-catastrophes. The town had depended on the coalmines for the first part of her term, and when those had dried up, almost without any warning, she had had to use all her eloquence and persuasive skills to keep the town from flying in a panic. Cattle ranching had been a perfect solution, a stroke of genius on her part – but now, for no reason, the cows were simply dropping dead. The slaughterhouse had been closed for months now; the town's revenue was shrinking, and with the revival coming to town, she wasn't sure it could hold together.

Their only reassurance now was the promise they had forcibly extracted from Dr. Parker – a promise _not_ to bring the much feared Bat Boy to the revival.

A promise the Sheriff feared he might soon go back on.

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Ahem."

She looked up and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

He cast about for a conversation topic, not wanting to bring up the looming subject that seemed to hover over the entire town; he landed on the revival. "Reverend Hightower still coming?"

Mayor Maggie nodded, lips pursed. The Reverend himself – hopefully that would keep the people happier. At times she hated her job and having to look in the long term all the time. The people of the town sometimes couldn't see beyond their own fences.

"He's outside," she told him, "getting the tent up. Says he wants to bless it too."

"That's good. You know, it'll get the townsfolk quieter." Frankly, he had never quite believed in the prayers the Reverend bestowed on their land, but it made the people happy and invariably dropped the crime rate of Hope Falls for a few weeks, so he welcomed it, like everyone else, even if it was not for the exact same reasons.

"They'll all need it," she answered, as if reading his thoughts. "What with all this talk 'round town…"

They had reached it – too quickly for the Sheriff's liking.

"You know," Maggie placed her hands under her chin and leveled her gaze at him. "This…Bat Boy." She had seen it once, when the Sheriff himself had dragged it through town, and had disliked it on sight. It was an odd creature, unsuited for her town…

Sheriff Reynolds shifted uncomfortably. "You know," he interjected, "I went and visited the boy myself yesterday."

Maggie was stiff in her seat, waiting for his next words.

"He was the nicest young man," the sheriff continued, ignoring the stunned mayor. "Look, y'know Rick Taylor? The boy trashed a truck driving through a cornfield, _and _he was caught with a pile of weed. He told me it was herbs for his mom!" He paused for breath. "But this boy, Edgar -"

"Edgar?"

He smiled, almost fondly. The boy had come a long way since they first met – he had been friendly and willing to talk, even to the sheriff, who had first introduced himself to Edgar by hooding, cuffing and pistol-whipping the boy into unconsciousness. "They named him Edgar. And he has improved so much -"

"I don't think so, Sheriff," Maggie said, giving him a piercing look. He sounded almost _fond_ of the boy.

"Then you should see for yourself! He talks…better than you, Mayor!" Shock crossed her face. "He's polite, respectful, well-dressed – any mother would be proud of the boy. And," a little smile flitted across his face, "I believe little Shelley Parker might have taken a liking to him as well."

"Shelley Parker?" Maggie said, thinking quickly. She recalled the girl mooning over a boy who decidedly not the Bat Boy. Who was it…? "I thought she was dating Taylor boy you were just talking 'bout."

It never failed to amaze him just what the Mayor could remember. "I guess. But if I were Meredith, I'd rather Edgar be with Shelley than that Taylor boy." He glanced at the woman sitting across from him. "Look, why don't we let the boy come to the revival? It might be good for him, get him introduced to the town when they're feeling at their best."

"That is the dumbest idea ever!" Maggie snapped. "Sweet Jesus, think of yourself! What will the townspeople to _us _if we let him come?"

"Let's think about someone else, huh? Like Edgar!"

Maggie slapped her palm on the desk. "That's fool's talk! Do you have any idea what'll happen if we let the boy come?"

The sheriff defended himself, "They might like him! The Reverend could help too-"

"That's even dumber than your last idea!" the mayor shouted. "This town is pissed, Sheriff! They're hopping on any scapegoat they can find! He comes there, they'll tear 'im apart, and the Parkers too! They'll form a mob and hunt 'em down!"

"Now, I don't think -"

"He's already bitten one of the Taylor kids, and that older boy's been going around spreading tales and such… Lorraine and Daisy think he's running in their houses!"

"I know, Mayor, we discussed that," the sheriff retorted.

The mayor, however, had leapt to her feet; she was yelling into the sheriff's face, trying to make him see what she knew would happen. He had not been in charge when the town went under the first time; he had not seen what the people were capable of doing when frightened out of their wits. "The town will go on a rampage, and nothing you or I can do will stop 'em! That's what'll happen, Reynolds! Is that what you want?"

After a heavy silence, the sheriff answered, "No, Mayor Maggie." He sighed. "I like this town. I don't want it becoming like a…an animal on the loose."

"Me neither." She sighed. "It's hard, leading people." So hard… She almost felt a bit of pity for the boy…

The sheriff was thinking along the same lines. Yes, it was hard. He was about to let a young boy's dream of acceptance die, for the sake of the greater good – to keep the town stable. Then why the sudden gnawing growing in his chest?

"I believe the Reverend's finished," Maggie continued, unaware of the Sheriff's inner conflict, thinking over her own small doubts. Catching the sheriff's despondency, she said with a brave attempt at cheerfulness, "C'mon Reynolds. The revival'll help the people – get some of them feelings out. We can let the boy come afterwards. We're keeping the town solid, and the Parkers safe, aren't we?"

Her logic was infallible, but it did not relieve the guilt.

He just wanted people to _be happy_. He wanted some way to make everybody feel good. He wanted to find some way to reconcile the stubborn townsfolk with Edgar the Bat Boy. But he couldn't think of anything at all to help.

They walked outside to the open lawn. The tent was huge, large enough to accommodate all 500 of Hope Falls' residents (give or take a few). In the back the helpers were heaving up a large cross. The sun was setting, unfortunately, so that the translucent cross retained its dull, glazed look, but the Sheriff could see what Lorraine had planned out.

The Reverend himself was putting up the podiums and pushing benches and chairs into place. Sometimes his fellow men and women would suggest (rather pathetically and half-heartedly, since they'd been doing so and failing for years now) that he prepare his sermon or simply go rest. He wasn't really a young man anymore, having been traveling and preaching ever since hearing God at the tender age of 16 – but hard work never hurt anybody. Idle hands were the Devil's tools, he would sometimes quip.

"And God blessed the seventh day-" one of his choir members started to say, but was cut off by his laughter.

"True, true," the reverend said, sitting down with a sigh. "Oh very well, go on." He caught sight of the sheriff and the mayor, watching the scene with a mix of awe and careful observation. "And there are the town leaders themselves! God bless you all, for letting me pitch my tent in your lovely town!"

"Good day, Reverend Hightower," the two said, a little less jubilantly. Ah well, sometimes his manner could be a bit off-putting. But he had been here a few years back and inevitably they would warm to him and God's words.

"Is everything going well?" the mayor asked, looking around with a practiced eye. "Do you need anything? We could get more volunteers -"

He waved them away. "Ma'am, you've done more than enough. All we'll need for tomorrow is a good crowd and a clear sky, God willing."

She nodded, though still watching things as if expecting to find a mistake somewhere. He wondered about this little town. It seemed to have gone downhill in the last few years. Perhaps that was to be expected; the economy had been rough on everybody. But the last letter to him (from that wonderful woman, Lorraine, an excellent organizer and planner) had a note of desperation to it not there before. 'Our cows are dying, our fields are drying up, and we don't know what to do! Please, can you bring your revival and blessings to our humble little town?'

It was the people's attitude, though, that worried him. They were…furtive, glancing over their shoulders at times. When they spoke he could see a distrustful shift in their eyes, a way of talking to (or about) others that was just a bit off to him.

"Aw, you know Ned, always fooling with his cows…"

"Can't trust some people around nowadays…"

"Daisy? She couldn't work for the Mayor no more. Lord knows what's wrong with her…"

Now that just…not right. No, those people should trust and love their neighbors, no matter their differences. He knew that people could be silly and stupid at times, particularly when their livelihoods were at stake. This town was in bad need of healing – of some rejoicing! He could only hope his humble body would be enough to help them. But the Lord – and Hightower himself – smiled upon challenges. This would be a battle indeed.

"Reverend?" A volunteer appeared at his shoulder. "The tent's all ready. We've got the barbecue set to go for tomorrow too."

"God bless you, it looks like we're all set," he exclaimed. The sheriff and mayor had joined him and were looking upon the tent, pitched perfectly on the hill. The sun was just setting, casting a golden glow over them all. For a moment it looked almost…heavenly.

_All ready for tomorrow. And then…we shall see what that day brings._

* * *

Random Note #1: Okay, so I wanted to write something from what I consider are the three authority figures of this town. And here's what I came up with.

" " #2: I'm getting tired of writing 'Random Note'. The sheriff's part was based on Merusa's "What the Bat Child Does", a really excellent Bat Boy fic.

" " #3: The mayor, from what I noticed, didn't exactly try to calm the town down when they want all mob-like on Bat Boy, so her part was not as positive as the sheriff's.

" " #4: Reverend Hightower was not going to make an appearance in this chapter; heck, he wasn't going to appear in this series at all (I am not religious, I have never been to church, and it's just hard for me to think the way he does, being, well, what I am). But he's such a cool guy I thought he deserved it. But it still seems a little tacked on to me, and I don't think I got his character down at all.

" " #5: What's the Sheriff's first name? Or for that matter, the Mayor's last name? Ah, the mysteries of Bat Boy...

On another note, just got back from orientation at college, after a one hour drive and only four hours of sleep. Urgh...


	10. Chapter 10: Bats

Let's change it up a bit, shall we? Ha ha...here are our favorite bats in the world, from "Children, Children" to "Inside Your Heart"/"Mine, All Mine" to "Apology to a Cow".

And if you have not read **Retribution** by **LadyLore3**, then shame on you. Go read it! Unless, of course, you ARE LadyLore3, in which case: Hi!

**#10**

When night fell, the bats emerged.

They had lost their beloved son months ago. It seemed to lurk in the back of all their minds, for hadn't they all been its parents? Together they had taken the abandoned child and let him grow in the utter darkness of the cave. They had saved him from predators and starvation and, and this they sensed only with the deep inner thoughts they had when they brought all their minds together, his mother.

Now they fluttered about the woods and the trees, into the fields, preying on the cattle and the deer, the smaller mammals and the birds, and even the occasional human. They swooped low upon the earth, so tiny most couldn't see them, infinitely careful. They were bats – feared, even hated, fragile yet incredibly resilient.

Suddenly they sensed something – a once familiar smell, a voice that had changed yet remained distinct to them.

It was their son. He had returned to them.

Painfully they recalled when their boy had been dragged from them. They had flown and bitten at the two others who had grabbed him and forced him away, but it had not mattered. Even their numbers could not make up for the sheer size of those humans. They had lost their son. They had mourned for many days afterwards, and searched through the woods and fields for him. But they had failed, and they dared not venture into the human homes, out of fear of the strange beings that inhabited that region.

So they waited, and as weeks passed by they had slowly given up. Sometimes they would fly by and catch a whiff of his familiar scent – half them, half something different, even feared – but these occurred less and less frequently. They fed, they mated, they raised their own young, and they started to forget. They were bats, and while, when together, they possessed a hive mind that could recall everything through shared experiences, many times they were apart, they were separate, and individually each started to lose him.

But now his overpowering odor was back, along with that of someone not as familiar. They sniffed – it smelled like him, the other half of him, and they accepted her. She was female, they sensed, and quite young – perhaps as young as their boy. They shared parts of the same scent. They listened too – they heard her call for him, and they liked her voice. It sounded like him as well, but different, closer to their pitch.

They flew nearer, perched along the branches, unseen in the dark, and folded their wings. It was quite dark, but with their eyes, their ears, they could sense them.

They saw the boy, hidden amongst the trees. They tried to recall what they remembered of his strange habits and movements. Many times they had wondered at how slowly he grew, how helpless he had been. Their own children grew quickly to independence, yet this had taken so long to grow…

They recalled when he had been frightened by the frequent storms near their cave. He had hidden himself in the back of the cave and had made strange sounds there; he had not leaped up to his usual perch but crouched in the back until the storm had abated. Right now, he was acting the same way, and they chattered amongst themselves, wondering if they should go to him.

Then the girl they had smelled made her way to him. He rose up, seemed to calm himself, touched the girl. She leaped around and then grabbed at him – some lifted their wings, wondering if she was attacking, but others who had spent days amongst humans reassured them – and gave him something small and white that puzzled the bats.

A few fluttered around them, though the two remained ignorant of them. Those few were disappointed that their boy no longer recognized them, but the majority were unsurprised. It was the way of the world for the young to grow, forget their elders, and start families of their own, who would continue the cycle. The few returned and assured the others too that, yes, their son was ready to mate as well. Several clicked happily – it was good for him, for he was finally an adult, and to be with one with such a similar smell was even better.

The girl continued holding him for a bit, until the bats started chittering unhappily. It was _time_, they were clearly _ready_ – why weren't they doing it? Others, more patient, cautioned them into silence.

The girl started to pull off those strange bits of color she wore, shocking several younger bats – they thought she was tearing off her own skin. The older ones quietly explained that their boy and others like the girl often covered themselves in such a way – how often had they gotten tangled up in them while flying unawares?

The girl was now free of those bits, and she helped the boy quickly. The bats flapped impatiently. Their smells and movements seemed to be short, tense, building up. It made them jittery.

Then the two collapsed to the ground, the girl clinging to the boy. He held her tightly, pressing himself to her, connecting, bonding, at last. The bats squeaked; as one they flew into the air, beating their wings happily in time with the others, rejoicing with their son as he joined the one they knew he had chosen as his mate.

They flew in the cool night air, chirping their happiness to the owls, the trees, the mammals sleeping in their woodland home. They dived up and down amongst the branches, forming a great circle of bats.

After a few moments they settled down. The two children were sleeping, curled together in a little nest. The older bats chirped their approval; some of the younger ones, though, interrupted. They too had their own young, and they were getting hungry.

There was a herd of cows gathered on the hill. Several of them released themselves from the tree branches and flew off. They settled on the cows' bodies, so light that the large animals didn't even noticed. They bit into the tough skin, lapping up the blood and allowing their children to feed.

The older ones, without young of their own, watched the other two children below. They recalled trying to feed the son when he was young and helpless – far more helpless than their own ever were, for even right after birth their children could hang from the ledges, could twitter for their parents. This new son had squalled whenever it was hungry, when its skin grew too cold or hot, when a strange noise echoed through the caves. They had shared food amongst themselves and did the same for this strange, adopted child of theirs. It had taken to their food easily, but had wanted a great deal more blood than the bats could provide.

Soon after, though, it had started crawling about. Unable to fly (and this had puzzled the bats, for their young were all equipped with wings), it had imitated the scratching, crawling movement the bats did, using their clawed wings and tiny feet to clamber along. Then they had had to watch him all the time, making sure he didn't wander into the dangerous parts of the cave or skewer himself on the stalagmites. However, they had never had to keep him from the entrance. Their son disliked the light and the strange things outside the cave, and hid from them.

So he had grown up amongst them. They could not keep track of time, they lived in the present, yet together they knew that their son was different, was growing and developing at a far slower rate than their own children. Some had wondered about his mating habits, yet he had never seemed to give off the signals their males did. But they were bats; they did not dwell on such unsolvable problems, they did not worry, and they forgot about it.

How proud they all were now! The returning bats came back, chattering about a strangely familiar presence making her way through the woods. They exchanged scents, and the oldest bats nodded. They recalled the woman – how utterly powerful her scent had been! None had cared, then, that she was bigger than them, that she was not one of them – then she was part of them, and they had joined up with her. And their son, they knew, was the product.

The bats continued flittering. The woman shared a similar scent to the girl below them. Apparently the mate their son had chosen was the woman's child as well. Yes, that made sense to them – that was why the two scents were so extremely similar. Mating between bats of such close relations was rare, but they had occurred.

They sniffed at their son. He seemed worried, stressed. They were reminded of the days of his babyhood, when he had hungered and they had struggled to feed him. His actions were similar. He got up, attempted to run from the girl. The bats yelped, cried out – would their boy abandon his mate, especially in her condition? Bats remained together to raise a child, after all.

The girl followed, and she did something very strange – she held out one of her limbs. Some bats noted, peripherally, how different it looked from their own limbs – no wings at all. The boy twisted, and they noted the conflicting pheromones – he hungered, yet some part of him didn't wish to. They wondered about it. He had never been unwilling to eat. _They_ had never been unwilling – it wasn't anything they could control, after all.

The girl came close to him, held him the way mates did. They touched, placed their heads close together. Their son's body relaxed. He took her arm and opened his mouth. The bats watched eagerly.

Suddenly the woman burst in, startling the bats into flight. They flapped amongst the trees, regaining their calm. But when they landed they knew something had changed.

Their son howled. They had never heard such a wrenching sound, but for when a bat died, terribly, painfully. And then he ran, ran from his mate, while the girl was left, not chasing him, with her mother, every movement of their body signaling pain, terror.

But they could not stay with the females. They followed the boy. Their son no longer crawled – he ran, faster than they could follow at times, and without any sense of the direction the bats had tried to teach him. He twisted along difficult routes, turned on a whim, seemed not to care or notice where he was going.

When he stopped the bats did so, though some, taken by surprise, went flying on ahead and had to double back. There they stopped and watched their son's agony. They mourned softly in their own language as he screamed his rage, his grief, his shame. They understood nothing of his language, yet every movement, every sound produced told them what they need to know – he had lost his mate, his love.

A calmness overtook him, one that the bats had never seen. He looked up and saw them. They twittered as he climbed up and joined them, hanging from the branches as he had done when he was younger and needed comforting. Several mothers licked him as they would lick their young, hoping to soothe him from his troubled state. He didn't move, and the younger ones wondered if they had helped. But the wiser ones knew not. It was hidden, but they could sense it – the anger was still present, yet latent, dormant. Soon, they knew, it would be unleashed. Only a few shivered, fearing this unfamiliar power.

Bats whirled back, crying out about the people smashing through their woods. Yet the strength in the group seemed to increase; they drew together. This was _their son_, and nobody would harm him. They would die to protect this boy.

They surrounded him, covering the branches, the trees, an eerie sight if humans could have beheld it. Edgar, however, felt only the soft, nameless comfort of a child. He felt as if time had spun back, as if he were once again merely a strange boy in a cave, unaware of the world outside, thinking of nothing except how to get his next meal.

A gunshot blasted through the woods, the force tearing through branches. The bats scattered.

The shock of the sound brought him crashing back to reality. He could never go back. He was not a boy any longer. He had done too much, caused too much suffering. No one would ever forgive him. He could not forgive himself.

He was alone now. He had always been alone.

He pulled himself off the branch and landed in front of the mob. They might as well not exist; his eyes were focused only on Dr. Parker.

"Hello, Father."

* * *

Random Note: I did quite a bit of research on vampire bats, a lot of which was incorporated in here (and which made me realize, as I madly re-edited entire paragraphs, that I probably should have done the research BEFORE writing the chapter). One thing I did take creative liberties with was their sense of smell. The stuff I read emphasized more their echolocation and their infrared sensing. But hey, it's a story and smells (with pheromones and hormones and all that) worked better.

**PLEASE READ:** Okay, so I, in my crazy insane obsessive way, decided (pretty early in this story, actually), "I wanna do a chapter showing the viewpoint of ALL THE SUPPORTING CHARACTERS!" So pretty much, every person who has a frigging NAME in the script got a part. (This means people like the Doctor or the Institute Man or...I dunno...Meredith's Parents DID NOT get anything - so I'm sorry if you are HUGE FANS of them, nothing about them in the next chapter. Or anywhere here, LOL.) Anyway, being the person I am, it ended up...oh, around 10,000 words long. Yikes. So, rather than inflict a horrendously long and potentially boring chapter on all you lovely, devoted readers, I split it into 4 chapters, which will be released over 4 days. And that is it. Something for you all to look forward to. Or to ignore. I'm guessing more the latter. :)


	11. Chapter 11: Townsfolk Pt 1

**WE ARE NEARING THE END. **After these four parts there is but ONE more chapter. And then it will be over. Sigh...

Oh right, I might as well say this. I made some edits to Edgar's chapter, added a few lines to Dr. Parker, and added a whole section to Meredith's chapter.

Right, Townsfolk: Part 1. This shows Clem, from "Hold Me, Bat Boy", and Daisy, from "Another Dead Cow".

Enjoy...or not.

**#11**

A skittering across his rooftop awoke Clem from his doze.

He bolted upright, already reaching for his gun. His windows had neither curtains nor shutters nor flaps, yet he could barely see outside. His house was so close to the forest that the dark branches of the trees obscured his entire field of vision. Sometimes, in his less lucid moments, he would dream that the forest was growing closer – encroaching on to his yard. Sometimes, he wondered if the trees would someday swallow up his house.

But it was the house furthest from the neighborhood, he thought with dark satisfaction. A house far from the petty, annoying troubles of the others. It had been broken-down, grown over when he bought it, but that had been fine. It was _his _house, to do what he liked with it.

The skittering turned into outright thumping, directly over his head, on _his_ house. Clem swallowed, clutching his gun tighter. He moved out of his bedroom to another window, and peeked out an uncovered window.

The thumping softened…became something else. He strained to make out the new sounds. It sounded like…_rolling_. Down his roof. With a great leap of terror, he saw something _large_ leap off his roof and land on the ground. He threw open the window, already aiming – but the thing had already skittered into the forest, snapping back branches.

Damn. Reluctantly he closed the window. Damn, damn, damn. There was definitely something wrong with this town, and he intended to find out what it was.

The answers to his questions came sooner than expected.

He was pulling up the new shoots of trees in his yard when he saw, from behind his fence, the sheriff coming out of the forest, hauling a wagon of some kind with a bag in it. Behind, and jabbering very loudly, were two boys. After a bit of searching, he recalled their faces. The Taylor kids, he was pretty sure of that. They were famous for their grizzly bear of a mother. He vaguely remembered there being a third one…maybe a girl…with them, but he didn't dwell on that fact…yet. Mostly he recalled them throwing rocks at his windows once in a while, on their little trips through the woods. Damn kids, doing God-knows-what…

"…hates Fritos! You gotta lock it up, Sheriff!"

"And make it stand trial!"

The smaller boy kicked at the wagon, and whatever was in it _moved_. A high pitched squeal was emitted and Clem, several feet away and behind the safety of his fence, jumped back.

"Now boys! You go and look after your sister, I'll take care of this _Bat Boy_."

Stand trial?

Look after your sister?

_Bat Boy?_

Damn. He hated getting drawn into these town problems. And he hated the curiosity that always got him involved in the first place. This was why he avoided the meetinghouse. All the people, standing around and shouting their miserable problems for everyone to hear…it made him sick.

He ran back into his house and out the front door, taking the considerable stroll into the town. His house not only bordered the forest; it was right on the outskirts of town, away from the gossipy neighbors of Hope Falls. Clem liked his privacy.

The sheriff was hauling it by the other houses, though not many people were out. However, Bud, one of the ranchers, was strolling nearby, talking with Mr. Dillon, the only farmer of Hope Falls still around. Catching sight of the wagon both men ran over, badgering the Sheriff incessantly.

"What's going on, Clem?" Bud yelled as he ran.

Clem merely grunted, his gruff silence pushing them away like an invisible hand.

The sheriff waved the small group away. "Come on, back off – nothing much…"

Clem interrupted. "I heard them Taylor kids say it's some kind of _Bat Boy_."

The two other men muttered together. Bud and Mr. Dillon exchanged knowing looks. Clem looked at them from the corner of his eye; what exactly did those two know?

"You say you got that Bat Boy in that bag?" Mr. Dillon demanded.

The sheriff didn't deny it, leaving Clem to mutter "Dang!" in amazement.

So _that_ was the thing running across his rooftops all night. The two men glanced at each other once more, deliberately avoiding Clem's sideways glance. Looks like the ranchers (and farmers, he amended, thinking of Dillon) weren't the only ones who knew about this thing. But did they spend nights awake waiting for the creature to play on their rooftops? Clem didn't think so.

"Whatcha gonna do with it, Sheriff?" Bud asked him, voicing the question they were all thinking.

Clem couldn't see much of it in the bag, but thinking of the shadowy figure he had seen running into the woods made him back away carefully. "I'll bet that's one powerful critter," he said quietly.

"I knew those stories were true," Bud said, slapping his fist into the other hand.

Clem looked at him once more. Stories? He had been out of it, hadn't he? Well, that's what happened when you lived at the edge of town, his mind admonished him, staying away from the town meetings and barely talking to neighbors. The other part of his mind told it to shut up.

"You think Dr. Parker can handle a Bat Boy?" Mr. Dillon asked. His voice implied some doubt in the veterinarian's abilities.

"It can't be that difficult," Sheriff Reynolds shrugged. "The Taylor kids managed to capture him all by themselves."

"Yeah, but they were all hopped up on dope," Bud mumbled under his breath.

The sheriff pretended not to hear this, though his words belied that supposition. "Dr. Parker's a good veterinarian, I'm sure he'll just put it down with no trouble -"

As if hearing their ill intentions the bag suddenly wriggled, almost falling off the wagon in its struggles.

"So long boys!" the sheriff yelled, hauling it back in, none too gently, and running off, obviously eager to dump his find on the unsuspecting Parkers.

The three men shuffled a little bit before gathering around, discussing the events.

"Did you see that?" Bud asked Dillon, still not looking at Clem or giving any indication that he wanted the man to join in the conversation.

"Got a peek myself," Dillon said, nodding knowingly to himself. "Interesting-looking thing."

"You've heard stories?" Clem interjected, not exactly subtly. "What kinds of stuff?" The two seemed to sigh; resigned to having him there, Clem concluded.

"Taylor kids said they sometimes saw things running around the caves in the hills," Dillon told him quietly.

"I knew it," Clem said triumphantly, making them all stare at him. "Y'know I live close to the woods? I been hearing things crawling around my roof. And I saw it just a few hours ago – it leaped off and ran into the woods like some kind of animal!"

And now the men gathered closer, muttering in awe, glancing at him with newfound respect. It made Clem somewhat uncomfortable, having never been the center of attention before. But at the same time, he felt a strange pleasure to see their admiring looks.

"Whoa! You ever try to get a good shot at it?"

"Sweet wounded Jesus, the Taylor kids were right…"

"Dang, I hope they put Dr. Parker puts it down…"

"You've got that right…"

They looked down the street. The sheriff was still running dragging his load behind him.

* * *

Storms were okay, Daisy thought to herself. A bit loud and scary at times, but it was always good to get some rain on the grass and fields. And the lightning and thunder provided a bit of excitement too – nothing too frightening, just enough to give her a thrill. She liked storms. She wondered why everyone else seemed rather grouchy about it. Maybe because they were all wet. Well, perhaps she could provide some towels for them –

Maggie banged the gavel and Daisy quickly snapped to attention. No more daydreaming, she told herself firmly. Right now, she wasn't Miss Daisy, the schoolteacher of Hope Falls School. Right now, she was Daisy, trusted secretary, recorder of the minutes and items of the agenda. She really liked this job though. A lot of her life had been spent flitting from here to there, and this provided some stability –

"I hereby call this meeting of the Town Council to order," Maggie said sharply, sending a furtive look towards Daisy. Daisy, getting the message, started to scribble – or, at least, pretend to scribble. Maggie nodded, seeing that all business as in order. "Okey-doke." Daisy paused for a moment, wondering if slang should be recorded. Oh well, she shrugged to herself, better safe than sorry. Maggie continued, "First order of business."

Daisy felt it necessary to say at that point, "Number One."

Maggie may or may not have rolled her eyes. Daisy chose to think she had not. Give everyone the benefit of the doubt, that was her motto. Maggie called up Lorraine, who gave a glowing report on her own activities in the highly regarded Revival Committee. Daisy remembered her own days in that office with some fondness. It had been a hard job, but the happy looks of all the people, the children especially, had all been worth it. But in the end she hadn't wanted it that much, and she had gladly ceded the job to Lorraine, her best friend.

Lorraine quickly gave an overview of what she planned, describing it so well Daisy could see it in her head. That was Lorraine, she thought with no envy, always the planner. She remembered days in school, working together on homework, going to class together, tittering over prom and boys and clothing. Even then they had been wildly different – Lorraine's desk, backpack, her very room, organized by color and object and who knows what other category, down to the smallest detail; and Daisy, scatterbrained, everything flying everywhere, half her assignments turned in either too late or (once in a while) too early.

Daisy recorded down everything she said, and even added a doodle in at the edge of the paper for good measure – an admittedly well-drawn cross, the light coming in from a stained glass window that probably wouldn't exist in a tent, but lighting up the cross brilliantly. In the picture, anyway. When Lorraine sat down Daisy was the one who cheered the loudest.

"That's just great, Lorraine, that is excellent work," Mayor Maggie commended her. "Okey doke." (Another pause as Daisy wondered whether to put it in. She did.) "Number Two."

Daisy stood up and chirped brightly, "Two!"

Maggie took a few quick breaths, before proceeding to the real meat of the matter. "We've got a crisis on our hands!" She held up some meat hooks. "There's something peculiar about these meat hooks, isn't there?" Everyone stared at it, sort of bug-eyed. When they didn't answer, Maggie shouted, "There's no meat on 'em!"

Oh…Daisy thought. She underlined the words 'no meat' several times, and added in another doodle.

"Bud, Roy, Ned – let's have the report!" Maggie was shouting. "How come this slaughterhouse ain't slaughterin'?"

Bud stood up – poor man, Daisy thought – and started to explain himself. Daisy pitied him – Maggie's anger was a thing to behold, and scary when it was aimed at you. Daisy could feel Maggie's anger rising with every word Bud said, and she had to fight the urge to dive under her chair.

"So what you're saying," Maggie gritted out; Daisy hurriedly wrote down as much as she could remember (which wasn't much), "is that the cows are _too skinny_ to kill?"

Ned defended his friend. Daisy scrawled a note to herself – the three ranched cooperatively, though they had separate holdings. Together they had 100 cows.

Or, maybe not.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Lorraine retorted, "but it didn't seem liked there was 100 of them."

"Is that right, Bud?" Maggie asked, aiming her laser gaze (ooh, laser gaze, very descriptive, Daisy thought, but decided Maggie wouldn't like it when she re-read the minutes) at him. "Did some of our cows run away?"

"Uh," Bud muttered nervously. "No, Mayor Maggie. What's happened with the twenty-two dead cows -"

Daisy almost dropped her pen in shock. Lorraine and Maggie yelled simultaneously, "Twenty-two dead cows?"

Ooh, this was bad, Daisy thought. Very, very bad. This town might go under – again. No, no, they hadn't gone under last time, her mind corrected itself. They'd pulled themselves from the brink of disaster when the mines died on them, and they would get through this too. She added a firm little nod to this mental statement (though thankfully, nobody in the audience admitted).

"Better make that twenty-three," Roy called from the phone. The townspeople quaked together.

"They're gonna repossess my double-wide!" Ned cried out.

"We're facing poverty!"

"And I'm thinking of blaming -"

Oh no, this is _bad_, Daisy thought. They mustn't point fingers! They had to stick together! They had to find a common enemy and fight it, whether it be something solid, like a marauding bear, or something intangible, like –

"A plague!" the three ranchers shouted.

Bud yelled, to no one in particular, "You went to college, think!"

Lorraine suddenly cried out, "What about the little Bat Boy they found in the bag?"

They went silent very, very quickly. Even Daisy thought about for a moment.

Hmm, what did they know about that Bat Boy? There were vampire bats, certainly, hanging around in the caves. Was the Bat Boy a Vampire Bat Boy? Maybe it drank blood. Daisy cycled through her memories. She remembered seeing the thing, and feeling a bit sorry for it, all trapped in a bag and probably headed for the jail. And she recalled a bit about it biting that darling Taylor girl – Rita, or Rachel, or something like that – maybe she should ask Lorraine about that…

"It is like they've been bled!" Roy said in wonder.

"Do you think Dr. Parker will put it down?" Bud asked.

"Dr. Parker's a good man," Lorraine assured them. "I'm sure he'll just kill it."

The townspeople nodded to each other. Daisy, however, forced down a bit of nervousness. Their happiness sounded rather forced – like they were trying to persuade themselves he was the problem. But a Bat Boy – was that really it? After all, it was just a feral child. She was reminded of one of her students from many years ago, one whose parents had lived at the edges of town, scrounging for food, never working. She had worked for weeks to get the girl to talk to her, to learn…and that dear girl had graduated with honors, even thanking her years later for helping her…

The people were starting to file out, still muttering about the Bat Boy. Lorraine, standing, looked over at Daisy. "Aw, Daisy, stop worrying, she said. "It's the Bat Boy all right. What else could cause the cows to die like that?"

Daisy twisted her skirts. "Oh, I don't know Lorraine. It doesn't seem right, just placing all this blame on a boy who hadn't done a thing to us…"

"But he has!" Lorraine gasping at Daisy's audacity. "Daisy, he's been attacking our cattle and keeping the slaughterhouse closed – and he even attacked one of your students!"

Daisy still didn't feel right about it. Lorraine was arguing well…but did a little boy really know what it was doing? She shook her head and went to the mayor. Perhaps she could help her deal with her conflict.

Maggie looked up and noticed the notes in her hand. "Oh yes, the minutes…"

Daisy hesitated. "Pardon, Mayor Maggie, but I was wondering about what y'all planned to do with the little Bat Boy?" She felt strange saying all this – she and the mayor had been on strictly professional terms, and Daisy rarely let her little problems come up in meetings – deal with them yourself and don't waste other people's time, was Daisy's motto, especially when there are more pressing issues to deal with.

The mayor said gently (keeping in mind Daisy's overall ditziness), "We're gonna let Dr. Parker put it down, as he would any other dangerous critter."

Daisy was shocked. "Just like that? But he's just a boy, really! Do we really have to…kill it?"

"It's dangerous to us and our livelihood," Maggie explained. "We've gotta think of others, Daisy."

Daisy nodded glumly. Sure, just like Lorraine sometimes said. Got to let go of your feelings for something and think of…of…the larger good? No…bigger? Something like that. But still…it had been a helpless little Bat Boy. Couldn't they have done as Lorraine and Maggie first suggested? Use it to help others, instead of killing it immediately? The thoughts ran circles in her head, but mostly all she could think was that it wasn't _right_.

"Maggie," she said, taking a breath. Oh, this felt strange, this felt weird – but it felt good too, it felt like…like… taking a stand or something! "Maggie, may I…quit?"

Maggie's eyes bugged out. "What?"

"Please, just let me go…don't ask…" she gibbered. "Really, I don't think I'm cut out…for all this…" She waved her hands around rather wildly, coming in danger of hitting some objects on the podium.

Maggie, flipping through her notes (and doodles) said, "Hm, I think I agree. Perhaps Lorraine is better suited for this."

Daisy nodded eagerly. "Oh yes! Lorraine is very good at these kinds of things!" Anything to help a friend, that was Daisy, Maggie sighed. Daisy continued, "But me, I'd like to go…"

"Sorry to see you leave," Maggie said, already grabbing a set of reports. Daisy didn't mind: the less attention for her, the better. She felt…free. Like she could do what she wanted. It was a thrilling thought, actually, thinking for one's self. She hadn't realized how much she had relied on Lorraine's thoughts, on what the Mayor decided, on how the town acted. Perhaps even go see the young Bat Boy for herself, and making her own decision about him.

She left the building without looking back.

* * *

So here's how this worked: there were a list of characters on the first page of the script. I went and took pretty much everyone with a name and assigned them a scene. I pretty much made a little outline (Clem - "Hold Me, Bat Boy", Daisy - "Another Dead Cow", etc.) Once that was done, I chose a character (this was pretty random - just whomever I felt like writing at the time), and went through the script (which I found out I can keep for an entire year, yay me), taking notes on their lines and extrapolating A LOT. And then I would write, pretty much with the flow and whatever came to mind. It was actually kind of fun - sort of typing down anything and everything.

Notes for Clem: Why does this guy have 2 FRIGGING LINES? Okay, a lot of making up at this point (I recall complaining about this to a lot of my friends - thankfully none of them ever responded with, "Well why don't you just not write about him?" because I wouldn't have any response other than, "I'm anal that way."), like making him a bit of a hermit and loner and stuff, because he disappears from the rest of the script. This scene is amusing to me for reasons that will remain my own. Also, as far as I know Bat Boy never left his cave, so I'll leave it up to you to decide whether that was REALLY Bat Boy or not.

Notes for Daisy: I still have no idea how Daisy turned out so nice. My mind went in another direction that day. (Most were written in a day, in one huge burst.) Anyway, I suppose this was good, because I wanted to give everyone some sympathy, and show not all of them hated Edgar on sight. And I was wondering where she headed off for most of the play, since according to the script, she was gone until that slaughterhouse incident. I also read something about her being sort of...out there, so I made her a bit of a ditsy, free spirit type.

Also, I have a Dreadful Fear that I really suck at writing, but people are too nice to tell me. (This goes very well with my Other Dreadful Fear that all my stories will sound alike.) So I urge you, review, and be as harsh as necessary in telling me where I do badly!


	12. Chapter 12: Townsfolk Pt 2

Doing preliminary research for (hopefully) two new stories of mine. And no, it's not Bat Boy, sorry. Bat Boy is done for now, for me at least.

Here is Townsfolk: Part 2. More of the same. Mr. Dillon, from "Christian Charity (Reprise)", and Roy, from "Comfort and Joy".

**#11**

The town hall was packed with people, all shouting to the mayor, the sheriff, to one another, to a person across the benches sitting at the other side of the building – in short, chaos.

Mr. Dillon took a seat near the front but off to the side. He was here to watch, not to yell and scream and accuse as the others seemed intent on doing. He was a quiet, solid man, not quick to judge, usually keeping his own opinions to himself. Bud, Roy, and Ned used to mutter that he was perfect as a farmer – who else among them had the patience to look over plants, watch them grow, and sell them at the steady rate he did?

He settled back into his chair, looking over the people. Bud, Ned, and Roy were gathered together at the front, all lined up with their accusations. The mayor was at her podium, the sheriff beside her, as usual, looking a bit more terse than usual. Dillon frowned slightly; Daisy had disappeared from her usual place, scribbling away (sometimes even when people weren't talking) on her notepad. A cursory glance allowed him to locate Lorraine, Daisy's closest friend, sitting somewhat more in back. Daisy herself was nowhere to be seen.

He shrugged inwardly; these things were none of his concern. Perhaps she had quit this job as well; her schoolteacher salary wasn't high but it was a steady source of income (unlike his own job, Dillon's mind decided to say), and the woman wasn't a spendthrift…he forced his thoughts away to focus on the issue at hand.

Dr. Parker came striding in, head held high despite the number of glares being thrown his way. Mr. Dillon had to admire his guts; it took a lot to stand up to the 500 or so people, all of whom were intent on forcing him into a bad deal.

The sheriff and mayor beckoned him up to the stand. Dr. Parker stood there, looking out at them all. Dillon reflected on what had brought him out there. It was, apparently, a 'special meeting' made specifically over the revival and this (whisper) _Bat Boy_. Actually, Dillon thought, nobody but the Parker's had seen hide or hair (figuratively speaking) of the infamous Bat Boy. Which made Dillon wonder – was this thing all he was said to be? Sucking blood and flying at night and crawling through houses? He himself preferred to actually see this creature with his own eyes before deciding.

This viewpoint didn't really apply to any of the others.

"Oh, for Pete's sake, we got Ruthie Taylor still in the hospital!" Bud was yelling at the doctor. "And I've got a sinking suspicion that your Bat Boy is responsible for the cattle plague!"

Really? Mr. Dillon thought. Hadn't heard that talk around town. He needed to start coming to more meetings. He wondered if Bud's information was accurate. Not that he distrusted Bud. But the man wasn't known for his smarts, dropping out of school early on and all. Dillon, at least, had graduated, even tried his hand at a few community college courses in Wheeling before returning to Hope Falls.

"Now, Bud, there's no evidence that links -"

"Sheriff – if you don't start whistling the right tune, I've got half a mind to run against you come election day!"

Of course the sheriff hopped right to it. Dillon sighed; he really pitied politicians at times. The man pulled Dr. Parker aside, muttering to him; Mr. Dillon overheard the doctor say, "I never said it was…of course, nobody does…"

Raising his voice, the sheriff said, "Some of my constituents say he's running through their kitchens, and I may have to enforce the law -"

Bud butted in, "-with deadly force!"

And now the entire town joins in, Dillon thought, watching them all clamor for some space. Now he remembered why he didn't go to town meetings anymore. He really should be getting home; those plants didn't water themselves. Crops were stable, were slow to do, well, anything, and they didn't shout when you least expected them too. Although the direction this town was going, he thought they might just start doing so. Why not throw in some mutated Plant People to mix with the Bat Boy…

"All right!" Dr. Parker cried over the clamor. "This is going to be hard on Meredith. But I give you my word, Edgar will not attend the revival."

Well, that was easy, Dillon thought to himself. He wondered how Dr. Parker would go about doing what he had promised, though. The man was a darn good veterinarian, true, but he would have thought a man who took care of animals would not be so eager to go off shooting them. And he seemed to be spending a lot of time at the taverns. Kind of the reason why Mr. Dillon hadn't thought the doc could handle a Bat Boy.

"Your word of honor?" Bud demanded.

"My word of honor," Dr. Parker repeated, shaking Bud's hand. The crowd chorused their thank you's as Sheriff Reynolds hustled the doctor out.

Mr. Dillon rolled his eyes. Well, if he knew Meredith Parker, the woman would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. (This was after watching her start an entire organization just to annoy her husband into ending his euthanizing.) Perhaps he could attend this year's revival. It would definitely be an interesting one.

He stood up before the rest of the crowd could recover from their sudden victory. He had crops to sow, fields to plow, plants to water and weed. The cows might be dying on the ranchers, but a farmer's work was not so simple – and not as easy to destroy. He hoped.

Hmm…definitely attend the revival. Maybe Billy Hightower could give his land a personal blessing.

He left the people behind rather quickly, but still heard them mutter:

"Thank God you'll be showing some Christian charity – and some dang sense!"

* * *

Man, he could really do with some bacon and eggs. Too bad he didn't raise any of the animals that made those wonderful products. No, it was just cows, cows, cows, cows everywhere! This entire town stank of cow manure. And now the cows were dying on them and they were all hopped up, running around like a chicken with its – good Lord, he really need those eggs.

He told his men to send him any more updates about his cows before going to the town hall. Another meeting – these things had just piled up since they heard the revival was coming. This one promised to be only marginally exciting – going over the schedule for the revival.

After a quick walk (the town of Hope Falls was so tiny that most people had no cars – they could jog across the extent of the town in half an hour if you were fast) he soon reached the center of town, with the big town hall prominently lit up. He passed by his rather extensive fields during that time, managing to inhale several lungfuls of that oh-so-wonderful manure scent. He and Ned and Bud – the three ranchers of Hope Falls, the three pillars of the economy, the foundation of the community. Oh boy, but was Mayor Maggie pissed when she found out about those twenty-two – oops – twenty-three dead cows.

They were a team, Roy, Bud, and Ned, owning the used-to-be-100 cows together. Bud was the technophile (Roy had looked up that word in the dictionary), going modern machine-like on the cows. Man, Roy had checked out that barn of his – all metal and steel and what looked like little robots going around milking the whining cows. Ned was the nicest, the kindest to his cows; he had the smallest herd but was the most loving rancher Roy had ever seen – maybe a little too loving. Roy himself had the largest herd, which was just fine to him, since he didn't give a damn about cows anyway. The more there were, the quicker he could make a profit off them. Walking milk and meat bags, that was all they were. Too big to love. Chickens and pigs though – man, those were small, easily raised, gave you tons of good food in the bargain…

Still, he, like Bud, remembered the coal mining days with the greatest fondness. Sure, they had scared the hell out of Ned. Sure, they had most likely given Bud some diabolical form of lung cancer. But they were the greatest times of his life. So why did they have to go and dry up on him? That was just the pattern of his life, wasn't it? Find one good thing and get it snatched away. It was hell.

Now, there was just the little matter of the Bat Boy.

Hmm…the Bat Boy…he hadn't seen it for himself that day the sheriff went carting it around, but the stories he'd heard – the things they said he had done – biting girls, sucking the blood of cattle, living with bats – ugh, they made him shiver with fear. Things like that – some deformed monstrosity of nature – should not have been born. And if they were born, they should not be allowed to live. It just wasn't _right_.

And what this Bat Boy could be doing to their town…Its presence itself was probably killing the cows. He'd been the first to notice the weird symptoms. Kind of sickly and weak, all the time, and affecting all of them. Ned was a little too forgiving – he'd said they were just a little spiritless and needed some good loving care to get back on their feet, and even taken in a few of Roy's and Bud's. Bud was always on the lookout for a cause; he'd declared a curse on this town, then had gone ruffling through his outdated bovine manual and declared it a disease. Roy, however, had _always _thought their blood was being drained out of them, like one of them vampires – and he had been laughed at. Well, looked who ended up right!

Thank God, Dr. Parker had promised never to bring it to the revival. That sneaky little election trick of Bud's had worked after all. They couldn't have that…thing…messing up the Reverend. Why, what if the man was so offended he left the town? Forever? They'd be doomed…

Nope. Enough of that. He straightened his overalls as best as he could. Got to concentrate. Got to get to that meeting and get himself all ready for tomorrow. But damn, sometimes even he wasn't sure if the Reverend's prayers were really helping their town. Sure hadn't done for him – he was pretty sure the cows the Reverend had blessed were the first ones to die…

He arrived to find Sheriff Reynolds and Mayor Maggie surrounded by a crowd of anxious ranchers, farmers, and townspeople, demanding to speak. Roy quickly joined them as the sheriff yelled, "Settle down people! We want to make sure the revival goes off without a hitch, so let's go over the schedule!"

As Maggie focused her infamous glare on all of them, the sheriff pulled out a crinkled paper and started reading. "From nine to twelve he does the healing…"

Ned piped up, "Sheriff!" but was shushed back into silence.

The sheriff went on as if nothing had happened, "At noon he'll bless the fields and plows."

"Tractors too?" Roy couldn't help yelling.

"Hush!" Maggie shouted at him. Roy muttered some curses at her. Hey, the blessings were the most important part of this revival; he had to speak up then.

The sheriff said, "Then lunch is at one-thirty -" before Ned interrupted again, this time with a query about his beloved first cow, Gertie.

Maggie, in complete exasperation, yelled, "Hush!"

The sheriff, attempting to make some kind of peace, let the people have what they wanted. "From three to ten: the Blessing of the Cows!"

They whooped, Roy a little less enthusiastically then Ned and Bud, since right about then, of course, one of his hired men came in and whispered some bad news to him.

"There's some hope for this town!" Ned cried.

Roy cleared his throat. "Um, two more down."

They all glared at him for ruining their little celebration. "Shut up, Roy," Maggie said. Roy sighed. Yes, kill the messenger.

"We'll have comfort and joy!"

They could be singing and dancing right now, they were so happy, was Roy's cynical thought. He joined in with markedly less energy, not that anybody really noticed. The sheriff, a little older and a little rounder, tired first and quieted them.

"So come on people, lighten up! We got the Reverend here already, setting up his tent!"

"He'll heal us of our ills!" Bud said.

"He's gonna cure the plague on our cows!" Ned added in.

Roy sighed. "He'll…bless our fields and stuff." There, that sounded good enough. And hey, the Reverend might actually do that. Seven hours of blessings, he's got to come around to his ranch sometime. Unless Ned got him to bless Gertie a million times, or Bud got him stuck blessing every piece of machinery he had…

And then…he allowed himself to indulge in a rare fantasy. The cows would get better. The cattle would fatten up. They'd reopen the slaughterhouse and start raking in the money. And they would be the most successful bunch of ranchers in West Virginia. Why, he might even get to move in on the chicken and hog business.

They were all on their knees now, even Roy, and heck, he hadn't even noticed he was joining them.

"Please," they were all praying, to the Reverend, to the revival, maybe even to God Himself, "send us some comfort and joy!"

Yes, God, Reverend Hightower, anybody up there, Roy couldn't help praying, send us some, please!

* * *

Was wandering through pics of my school's version of Bat Boy and comparing them to ones available on YouTube. My school definitely had a..._unique_...take on the makeup and costume part of the play.

Notes for Mr. Dillon: He wasn't mentioned in much of the script, but there was a person called "Townsperson #2" during the "Christian Charity (Reprise)" song (also a person called 'Jackie', which made me go "What the hell?" because he had no parts and wasn't mentioned at all - blame the writers), so I just fit him in there. Much of his personality is, of course, made up. He's sort of like, yet not similar to, Daisy - not judging immediately, but sort of holding back.

Notes for Roy: Roy was (at least in the UK version) always the one telling people how many cows had died. So there you go. Also, he had the least lines in "Comfort and Joy", which is why he got that part. I kind of made him out to be a cynic.


	13. Chapter 13: Townsfolk Pt 3

Townsfolk: Part 3. Stuck three people in here. Almost there, kind readers... Damn, though, this is _long_...

Anyway, Lorraine, from "A Joyful Noise", "Let Me Walk Among You", and "A Joyful Noise (Reprise)" (which is all one big event anyway), Bud from before, during, and after "More Blood/Kill the Bat Boy", and Ned from right before "Revelations".

**#11**

When Lorraine first knew that she was to be head of the Revival Committee, her first thought was: 'And about time, too_._' Not that she didn't respect Daisy's…well, let's say attempts…at organizing a good revival. But the woman, best friend or no, was just a bit ditzy – a little too silly for the hard work of calling up people, putting together all the key factors, and generally organizing an entire event. (Good Lord, how had that woman ever become schoolteacher without the children rampaging through her? She was just too _nice_. It required _fierceness_ for jobs like this. Yet somehow every kid who went through Hope Falls School – and there was only one school – turned out just fine. It was a mystery only God could solve.)

Daisy had gladly given up the position for secretary of the mayor's office (although Lorraine had heard her dear friend had _quit_ – oh, the foolish woman!) while Lorraine started to bring order to what was chaos before. She was so efficient at this that she had Daisy's former office, once a mess of paper, flyers, brochures, and yes, even years-old food, made into a tidy room, with file cabinets for everything and a trashcan bursting with refuse. And the finances – Lorraine shuddered just thinking about it. Well, now they had revivals quiet often, and at half the cost.

So well did she do everything that the revival meetings became more frequent – instead of once every five years, it became every four years…then three…now, even two. Lorraine's secret wish was to be able to get the revered Reverend to come to Hope Falls once a year, every year, right at the same time. Then she could walk with pride through the town (not that she didn't do so already).

Now, sitting in the benches, inside a gigantic tent, waiting for the Reverend's inevitable, always spectacular arrival, she felt quite pleased with herself. It had gone off exactly as she had wanted. The people had filed in, sat in their assigned seats without any mess. In the back she could smell the barbecue and, when the wind blew open the flaps, see the freshly cleaned picnic tables piled high with food – all brought by the various wives and mothers of Hope Falls, and all ordered to do so by her, Lorraine.

The wind sent up a particularly hard gust, the flaps spreading wide. For a panicky moment she feared everything would spill – but then the Reverend suddenly appeared, striding confidently into their midst, the flaps seeming to have been blown aside by God Himself, just for the reverend. He might almost have planned it, Lorraine thought. Quite likely, he probably did.

Lorraine prepared herself for the event – always a huge spectacle. To her disappointment, the townspeople didn't seem to be quiet in the mood…

"Make a joyful noise, my soul…" A long pause. Lorraine could have died of embarrassment right there. "Hello?" Reverend Hightower bellowed.

The townspeople started as one, as if coming awake. "…joyful noise, my soul…"

The Reverend (and Lorraine) let out a sigh of relief. The flock seemed as dead as their cows.

"All right, let's bring it down…" He started moving amongst the people, making them sit up. This was the most exciting part, for Lorraine, perhaps because it was so _unplanned_ – healing the flock. Who knew who would get up and reveal their most horrendous secret, asking for help…

"Someone needs healing! I can feel your distress!" the reverend shouted. The audience was twisting with anticipation… any moment now, Lorraine thought, someone would come up and say –

"I want to be healed!"

The voice was completely unfamiliar, completely unlike the rough talk of the townspeople – everyone swiveled in their seats and gasped (Lorraine almost screamed) when the _Bat Boy _came running down, followed closely behind by the two Parker women.

Whispers broke out; Lorraine felt a surge of horror. This was _not_ how it was supposed to go…they had made a deal with Dr. Parker!

She noticed, then, that Dr. Parker wasn't there, and scowled. Perhaps he was on another drinking binge and had completely forgotten their deal. Well, she would definitely be having a word with him. She was head of the Revival Committee, and _nothing_ like this was supposed to happen under her watch.

The Reverend was frozen, and her fears quickly shifted in another direction. Dear Lord, what if he left? What if he, in his fury, decided never to come to Hope Falls again? She could see all her plans and hopes fall into wreckage. The damn Bat Boy and those Parkers, coming here to ruin everything!

She was going to stand and – and – and do _something_ – just to get them out of there, just to distract – when the Reverend recovered himself, even smiled, and yelled, "Well, come on down!"

The Bat Boy grinned, completely unaware of how the parishioners were fleeing from the pews closest to him. The Reverend placed a hand on the Bat Boy (I hope he rebaptizes that hand, Lorraine thought coldly), closed his eyes. They all waited.

"I hear the Holy Ghost talking to me," Reverend Hightower said, "He says there's someone in this room who doesn't want this boy to be healed. Can that be right?"

Lorraine felt guilt punch her in the chest and stared at the floor, though there was still defiance in her stance. Could a Bat Boy even _be_ healed? Wasn't it just an animal, a freak who was probably killing their cows? If there was anyone who didn't want it to be healed, it would probably be God Himself…. She didn't notice the other people's expressions, all mixed with shame and rebelliousness, all thinking virtually the same thing.

The Bat Boy stepped away, looking very much a boy. He said, "I know…" They started up, and all those eyes seemed to fluster him. He started again, "I know you hate me…But I have to believe it's because you don't know me…If you could see me…I mean if you could really see me the way I see all of you…"

And then he launched into his speech. And though there was skepticism, undercurrents of hatred running through them as he spoke – slowly he beguiled them. He was utterly sincere, wanting nothing more than acceptance, genuinely innocent, yet beautifully eloquent, in a way even the Mayor couldn't manage at the height of elections. He told them of his accomplishments – more than any of them had done – told them what he wished to do – and it was ordinary and simple – and then, made Lorraine giggle, just a bit, with his utter boldness.

He paused there, looking rather frightened. Her heart went out to him. She had no children, as hard as she had tried with her husband, though she had wanted to. This boy could be her son – and any mother would be proud of him, she thought, looking suddenly to Meredith, almost in tears near the back.

"Please, will someone shake my hand, won't somebody take my hand, let just one person shake my hand…"

A pause as he gazed at them beseechingly. Then, as one, they all ran forward (scaring him badly).

"Okay!"

Shocked, he could only repeat, "Okay?"

"Okay!"

Then they were all grabbing him, shaking his hand, shaking _both_ hands, welcoming into the fold. Lorraine saw Daisy and joined up with her, feeling compassion even towards her estranged friend. Beside both women were Shelley and Meredith Parker, laughing with joy and with the release of fear; the Bat Boy himself was grinning madly, utterly shocked at how quickly they had accepted him, the Reverend was singing joyfully with his choir, and Lorraine couldn't help but think that sometimes, planning wasn't everything. Surprises could be the most wonderful gift in the world.

* * *

Bud rested his hand on his gun. He sighed. It was the most monotonous job, waiting out here for the Institute Man to arrive. He wondered why the Sheriff had pushed him out here, instead of making him part of the group. He'd shot the damn freak, why couldn't he go out with them? He'd probably hit the monster, and it was just limping around these woods, bleeding to death. He wanted to smack open its head for what it had done to his cows…not to mention the Taylor kids…

He heard a crackle in the woods behind him and whipped around, gun cocked and ready. It was dark, even out on the highway, that he couldn't see anything other than the vague outlines of trees. What a night, he thought to himself, pulling the gun up and going back to his post. First the attack on the Taylor boy, now this patrolling around – maybe Clem had the right idea, holing up in his house. Just sit and wait for it to come to you, instead of all this tracking and hiding stuff…

He sat on a nearby fence and was tumbled to the ground when the rotting wood gave way under his weight. Grunting, rubbing his sore behind, he elected to stand. He squinted. It was so dark he would probably see the van lights from all the way from Wheeling.

The walkie talkie hooked to his belt crackled. Daisy spoke, her voice static with interference. "Everything okay down there, Bud?"

"Fine, Daisy," he grumbled. "Just sitting on my ass, here," figuratively, he thought, wincing at his sore butt, "waiting for the damn van to show up." She sounded nervous. He wondered if it was over the Bat Boy or her own position. She had caused a bit of a stir by quitting directly after their 'meeting in a storm', as Ned termed it, and hadn't joined in the other meetings – why, he'd never figure out. But she'd been at the revival and had seen for herself what the Bat Boy had done, and had eagerly jumped in with her friend Lorraine to hunt it down.

"Gotcha Bud. Everything quiet down here too."

He put the walkie talkie down. His butt still ached. He knocked at the fence post; it splintered further down the center. These were probably Ned's fields, he thought. All empty now that his cows were dying on them. Though, he thought with a bit of rancor, not half as much as Bud's cows. There were…he thought back…twenty-five dead cows! Twenty-five…and ten of them were his!

The ranchers together had 100 cows. Or, they used to have 100 cows. Now, he didn't have the greatest education in the world (okay, he had very little education), but he was no fool. Change and the wave of the future, that was the way the dairy business was going! Bud had gone off with the latest modern developments – electric fences, milking machines, metal barns (although his bovine manual might be just a little out of date) – why, he's sunk all his earnings from the coalmines into this venture, and when it had gone belly-up, he'd started panicking.

What they should have done, Bud thought, was gotten that Reverend Hightower over and had him bless the land. And bless the pickaxes and the lights too, just to be safe. Well he wasn't taking any chances next time. Every piece of machinery, every bit of land, every one of his animals was going to have the Reverend Hightower's personal blessing on it next year. They would kill this freak that had slaughtered their cattle, and they would get some prayers from the good Reverend to make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

Why, now that he thought of it, perhaps the Bat Boy was behind the closure of the coalmines. The damn thing was the cause of the plague, and he knew it. But the Bat Boy was part bat – and bats always lived in caves. What if had dried up the mines too? Maybe he ought to suggest it to Ned and Roy. Well, he thought, scratching his head, maybe telling Roy might not be good. A cynic, that was what Roy was, always disbelieving everything, but a good man. They'd worked in the mines together, they had an equal stake in this. And he'd always thought it was something sucking the cows dry. The man was quick.

Just thinking of the coalmines caused him to start hacking again. He pulled out an already blackened handkerchief and further darkened its edges. Damn coalmines – but he'd loved it, all the same. Coal mining, now that was a man's work. Going into a dark hole and digging up fuel for the townspeople, living in constant fear of a cave-in. Not this sissy business of milking cows, for crying out loud. Well, perhaps he was being unfair. Ned had most of the female ones. But Ned _liked_ milking cows…

And why cows, anyway? Sheep! That was a man's work! Or goats. He had fond memories of going to his granddaddy's farm and playing with the lambs and kids there… and Lorraine would have approved, what with her nonsensical instructions about rustling up cattle – they were a dairy farm for God's sake, not cattle –

The walkie talkie cracked suddenly. Daisy was talking again.

"Daisy, is that -"

"Sweet Jesus!"

"Daisy?"

Now what the hell was going on?

"Have you seen Ron? Have you seen my baby?"

The voice was tinny and indistinct, and it was not Daisy's. In fact, it sounded like Mrs. Taylor. For a moment Bud wondered how the woman had acquired a walkie-talkie; then he realized that Daisy must have forgotten to turn hers off or, more likely, tried to turn it off and switched to his channel instead.

He settled back. Well, he couldn't be at the action, but he could certainly listen in if he wanted to.

There was a sudden burst of crackle – he thought it might have been the shuffling of Daisy's skirts as she moved – he pressed the device closer – then a roaring static that almost made his eardrums burst. He jumped back.

Over the roaring, he thought he heard, "Burn, Bat Boy! Burn!"

Good God, had the Taylor mom killed the Bat Boy? He wasn't sure whether to whoop or punch something (like that fence post – he gave it a good kick anyway). Man, but he had so wanted to rip out that creature's guts, ever since he heard it was the cause of the damn disease running through his cattle.

Now he heard the gormless sheriff's voice: "What the -"

Indistinct crackle. Bud waited, not very patiently. Then he heard screams.

He broke his silence: "Daisy! What's -"

The line shut off. Swearing he almost threw it down. Damn it, had the Sheriff heard and switched off? Stupid man – not that he hated the man. But sometimes the guy's inability to see evil things for what they were really pissed him off. Like his nonviolent solution to the revival. Man, Bud almost went through on his threat – had the papers all ready and was gearing up what little money he had left to run for the sheriff's office. Deadly force: that was what was needed to run things sometimes! If he'd been Dr. Parker, he'd of put the monster down the first time he laid eyes –

"Bud, this is the Sheriff. You there?"

Lordy, was he glad not to have thrown down that walkie talkie. Quickly he responded, "Ten-four. I'm positioned on the highway at the town limits. Over."

"That's great, Bud. You let me know as soon as you see any sign of the van from the Institute, okay?"

"That's an affirmative, Fox Leader," Bud answered, trying to sound as…radio-ey…as he possibly could. Inwardly he snorted – Fox Leader? The sheriff didn't have the wits of a fox. He could see why nervous, clucking Daisy was Henhouse… though he wished his requested name of Bat Freak Shooter had gone through…. "I'm positioned on the highway at the town limits. Over."

"That's great, Bud. You let me know as soon as you see any sign of the van from the Institute."

Bud voiced his affirmative and flipped off, sighing. Damn, he'd missed out on all the action – again. He was probably going to sit here while Ned and Roy shoot down the Bat Boy. Well, maybe they'd find a little wound where he _knew_ he'd winged it when it went shrieking off after killing the Taylor boy…

Ned and Roy would probably give it a quick death – which was all fine and good for them. 'Shoot 'em and spare 'em the pain,' that was Ned's motto when it came to cows. Roy seemed to follow along with his idea, but that was not for Bud. There were people _dead_ because of this thing, and he wanted good, bloody revenge.

"Oh my God!"

That wasn't the sheriff.

"Bud, you gotta get down here!"

That was Ned.

Sobbing. "Oh my Gertie…"

Gertie had been Ned's first cow. And by the sound of it, probably wasn't going to remain Ned's for long. Nope, that cow was off to the green pastures of Heaven, judging by the intensity of Ned's wailing. Ned had treated Gertie like his own daughter, a fact Bud found rather disconcerting. But the man was his friend. He had to be there.

"Bud, there's freaky stuff going on down here!" Now it was Roy. "Get down here, and bring your gun!"

"The Institute -" He wondered why he was protesting.

"To hell with _that_! Come on!"

Bud loaded up his rifle. They'd cornered the Bat Boy, he knew it in his heart. He and Ned and Roy were going to go and kill the cause of the plague.

The moment of truth, he thought to himself.

* * *

Ned was just _nice_. There was no other way to describe it.

"How do you manage it, Ned?" Roy would sometimes ask, shaking his head as Ned coaxed yet another cow back into good health. "I go crazy staring at the ones that _ain't _sick."

He had shrugged. It was a gift. He had liked animals ever since getting that little pet kitten as a child. Being a rancher hadn't been his dream job – he remembered days as a teenager, volunteering with Dr. and Mrs. Parker in their office while the other kids played outside – but the cows had grown on him.

Gertie had been his first. He had liked milking cows – it was kind of a Zen thing, sort of relaxing, you know? – much more than others (he coughed – Bud). Gertie had been a Guernsey – small, docile, didn't give a lot of milk but it was the creamiest he'd ever tasted. (He hadn't known about that before ranching. It had all been _milk_ to him before. Now he could taste milk and tell you what kind of cow it came from. He didn't do that often though – for some reason people didn't like to know about that kind of stuff.) Gertie was the sweetest of the lot, even for her kind, and he liked to spend nights in the barn with her, stroking her hide and such. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but those were the happiest days of his life – and much more so than his coal mining days (though he would die before saying this within earshot of Roy and Bud).

When cows started dropping dead all over the ranch, he'd been the last affected. Actually, he'd barely noticed. Bud and Roy didn't talk much about their troubles – they were big men, they didn't complain, they toughed it out – but when Ned noticed his cows sickening (just a bit listless, he rationalized) he'd gone over to the two men to talk about it and found out quite a bit more.

"You only just noticed?" Bud bellowed, face quite scarlet (and the suntan didn't help things). "We've got cows dropping dead all over our fields! Where you been, Ned?"

"Five of mine are gone already!" Roy exclaimed. "One of 'em drowned herself! Now how the hell does a cow manage to do that, huh?"

Ned had quickly rushed back to his own ranch, first to check on his cows, but also because the anger of the older, wiser ranchers could be quite frightening. And then, as if talking to the ranchers had unleashed the curse, all his cows seemed to just keel over and die,. Roy had gone through town spreading rumors of vampires or something or other; Bud had been right beside him retorting that it was just a plague. And Ned had taken a leaf from Mr. Dillon's book and kept his silence.

Even when he'd heard of this Bat Boy – or was Edgar the more appropriate name? – he'd withheld his council. Sure, it might be this Edgar who was draining all the cows' blood. Or it might be some disease that was killing them. Or it might be something _they_, the ranchers, were doing wrong. After all, he couldn't just blame everyone but himself, could he? That was rather unfair.

Even now his suspicions were…well, weak. Bud and Roy had been very eager to blame all their problems on the poor boy – and yes, Ned did pity it somewhat. He could understand the older men's paranoia. They'd all sunk all their finances into this venture; Ned had already gotten some of his newer machinery repossessed. And they were all wondering why the coalmines and the cows would fail so close to each other. And they were, you know…old. Conservative-like. But Ned didn't like to blame other people for his problems without much evidence to back it up. As said before, he was nice that way – though Bud and Roy had termed it, "too trusting".

And they _had_ provided their own evidence. Biting that young Taylor girl – whew, that was a frightening piece of news, no doubt about it. But still, he worked around animals – even Gertie sometimes kicked when she was in a very bad mood. The Bat Boy was probably like that – maybe a little grouchy over getting dragged out of his comfy dank cave and who just happened to badly injure the girl.

Okay, Bud and Roy had said (rolling their eyes at his naïveté), what about the Taylor girl _dying_ on them? What about what Dr. Parker said about the Bat Boy's venom being found in the cows' blood too? (This was after the revival, while Ned was reluctantly going off with the others on the town-wide hunt for Edgar.) And then _killing_ Rick Taylor right in front of them…. Ned recalled Bud trying to shoot after the fleeing boy while Ned attempted to restore calm (attempted and failed, Roy would sneer, not particularly favoring the nonviolent course of action).

Well…Ned had to admit, it was hard to dispute the evidence of Dr. Parker. Especially since Ned himself had worked under the man, holding the veterinarian in the highest respect. How many times had the good doctor come around to check on their cows, on all hours of the night? And before that…delivering calves, checking up on pregnant cows, castrating the bulls…. Which was why Ned had eventually agreed to join the hunt. And anyway, with the Sheriff and Mayor at the front, it shouldn't come to outright murder. Bud himself was waiting for the Institute van at the town limits.

They were just going to capture Edgar – no, the Bat Boy – and get him carted to another town. That was all.

His head snapped up; beside him, he saw Roy imitate the movement. Dr. Parker indicated them to raise their guns. All three could hear it – the sound of ripping meat, of slurping blood.

They burst into the clearing and saw him – the Bat Boy, feeding like some rabid dog on the head of a cow. Ned moaned suddenly.

"That's Gertie," he whimpered. "My Lord, he's killed Gertie."

Roy looked over at him. "That does it!" he hissed. Incontrovertible proof. "Someone's got to kill this thing!" He shot a look over at Dr. Parker.

"Oh Gertie…" Ned mumbled, on the verge of tears.

The Bat Boy ignored all of them; tossing the head aside. Ned whimpered again. He ran across, unable to hold onto this last part of his first, most beloved cow. It was barely recognizable as a head anymore…

He looked up from his numb state, saw Maggie and Lorraine and Bud enter. He saw the Bat Boy, ignoring everything, staring at Dr. Parker as if they were the only two in the forest. A wild anger entered him (vaguely, at the back of his mind, he knew that this was what Roy and Bud had felt) – his cows were _dead_, his _job_ and his _money_ and his entire _livelihood_ was _gone_…and it was this Bat Boy, this _freak's_ fault –

He jumped up and yelled, "Somebody's got to kill this thing!"

The crowd roared their approval. "Do it Ned! Shoot him!" He saw Bud and Roy nodding, raising their guns with him. A red haze seemed to cover his vision, a bloodlust, an urge to _kill_ – and all he had to do was raise the gun and pull the trigger –

The Bat Boy turned and stared at him, challenging him. Ned's hand went for his rifle –

"Stop! All of you! Please don't hurt my son!"

It was Meredith Parker. For a moment Ned paused – not because of the stunning revelation she had just uncovered, but because she had run in front of his gun – and no matter what, he would _not_ shoot Meredith Parker.

She raised his hands pleadingly; she and her daughter had stepped on either side of the Bat Boy, shielding him. Ned felt the adrenaline leave him. He felt empty, bereft of the comforting warmth of vengeance. He had missed his chance.

"Please, just stop," Meredith begged them. It seemed only the townspeople's respect for her kept them from blasting her down with the Bat Boy. "If you would only listen to his story, you'd understand!"

The crowd's yells dwindled into silence. They were listening – if only to hear the whole sordid tale, they were listening.

Dr. Parker looked at her, expression unfathomable. "I should have done as you told me on the day he was born." A rising murmur from the crowd that quickly quieted with the veterinarian's next words. "Or don't you remember?"

Meredith answered, "I remember everything."

They stared at each other – not at the crowd, to whom the story was being told, or even to Shelley and the Bat Boy, to whom the story concerned – only at each other. There was a sense of detachment – the crowd, the children, everything seemed to have faded for them.

And the people waited. Ned waited. They waited for the final revelations.

* * *

As we reach the end of this series (which I still think is better than my other story), I can't help but reflect back on my school's play...

Like the fact that the guy who played Edgar in my school's play thinks incest is very, very wrong...

Which might explain why the romance between the two in my school's version is limited to the two actors holding hands and _smiling_ at each other...

I probably shouldn't have put this all down, since he might read this.

Oh, what the hell.

Notes for Lorraine: She was the first I wrote, seeing as how she had a lot of lines and a pretty well-described personality. I think I made her sound anal here, though; I was trying to show someone who really likes organizing stuff, and making her contrast with Daisy. Anyway, she was in charge of the revival, so putting her here made sense - her moment, so to speak.

I have fond memories of "Let Me Walk Among You" from my school play. At the end of that song, the actor playing Edgar was right at the front of the stage, stretching his hand out over the audience ("Let just one person shake my hand?" part). My friends and I were sitting in the front row. I was off to the side, but one of my friends was right in the center, so I was mentally screaming, "Go! Take his hand! Do it!" Ha ha... Obviously she didn't. But it still makes me wonder what would have happened if she did. Probably gotten us kicked out of the theater. Anyway, moving on...

Notes for Bud: This was interesting, because Bud is away from the action most of the scene, which was fun to write (and no, I don't know if walkie talkies work that way - maybe they have weird brands, I dunno) and gave me a lot of time to get in his thoughts. I think he and Daisy and Lorraine were the easiest to write, and among the first to be written.

Notes for Ned: Ned's scene kept changing; I just didn't know where to put him. He really seemed worked up when that cow he keeps mentioning dies, so I gave him this scene, show him going over the edge. His part here really contrasts with his personality in _Thunderclouds_. And I dunno why he is so nice - maybe because he's always played by a girl in those ten-people, original cast versions...


	14. Chapter 14: Townsfolk Pt 4

THE. LAST. FRIGGING. PART. Townsfolk: Part 4.I feel like I should have done a part just named "Townsfolk", for all those people who just held that random, nameless part...Oh well, too late now.

This takes place from ALL perspectives of the people mentioned before, during "I Imagine You're Upset", "I Am Not a Boy", and "Hold Me, Bat Boy (Reprise)". (On a random note, I like how the musical ends with almost the same song as the one it starts with. LOL. Circles are fun...)

**#11**

There was a long silence as Meredith finished her story.

The Bat Boy said to Dr. Parker, "I wish you had not been a coward."

"So you see," Meredith begged them, "he's not a beast. He's my son. He's just a misunderstood boy…"

"But he's the cause of the plague!" Bud shouted. Who the hell cared what his origins were if he was the thing destroying their cattle?

"There is no plague, Bud!" Meredith snapped. "You're trying to raise cows on the side of a mountain."

Oh. _Oh._ Well then…

Shelley said to the Bat Boy, trying to meet his eyes, "Edgar, we can still be a family again."

He turned away from her, self-hatred, shame, guilt, all crossing his face. He said to Meredith Parker – _his mother_ – "How could you tell me I was human, when you knew me to be a beast?"

"Should I kill him?" Ned wondered. His hand was wavering. It was all too much to comprehend – there had been so many needless deaths, so many truths they had uncovered…he wanted time to think it out…

Beside him, Mr. Dillon put a hand on the gun, urging him to wait.

Behind was Clem, pulled out of his house by the entire fiasco, trying to get a good shot.

On his other side, Roy continued glaring, the explanation not satisfying him at all. Look at what the freak had done – torn apart this town, even if unintentionally – the thing deserved to die. It was a freak of nature. It should have been killed at birth.

At the opposite ends were Lorraine and Daisy, not looking at one another.

This boy was worthy of pity, Daisy thought.

This thing deserves nothing, thought Lorraine.

"Kill the freak!" Lorraine screamed. It had come upon them, ruined the entire revival, destroyed the town.

"Shoot him, Ned!" Maggie shouted, and the town, rallying around their mayor, seemed to agree.

Meredith tried to keep them at bay, tried to plead with her son, but the boy was hearing none of it. He wanted to die, and the crowd was more than willing to oblige.

He had no soul –

You've got that right, Ned thought, heartless murderer of his cows…

He wasn't a beast –

But he sure as hell acted like one, Bud thought.

Nor was he a human –

Don't even try to claim that part, Lorraine snarled quietly.

The sheriff ran in, trying to dissuade him from his suicidal mindset. The boy shied away from the handcuffs. He was looking for a way out – a permanent way out – and he alighted on Dr. Parker. With one movement he had the knife out and in Dr. Parker's hands, pushing it into his own neck.

Kill it! Lorraine screamed.

Do it! Daisy, beside her, added. What was the point in defying the mob, or the Bat Boy, if he himself wanted to die?

Dr. Parker paused, couldn't do it. The Bat Boy spat in his face, then turned around and let out the final, most horrifying revelation of the night – he had slept with his own sister.

Oh my God…Mr. Dillon thought; he couldn't think beyond it, he was numb with shock at the sheer, sickening horror of it…

Abomination, abomination, abomination, repeated in Clem's mind…and there was the girl herself, confessing it to them all, without any disgust or shame, but with sheer joy, staring at the boy with complete and total love –

Dr. Parker let out an animalistic roar – he knocked the boy to the floor, knife poised to kill. Shelley screamed, frozen at her spot – but her mother ran forward, crying her husband's name. And Dr. Parker…paused, looking at her.

"Meredith, I'm sorry," he whispered, "all of this is me…"

"Thomas, please…" Meredith murmured, touching his hand, pity overcoming her. "Please, oh Thomas…"

"All of this is me…"

Now…

"Thomas, don't…"

"I can't bear to look at him…You are all I see…"

Now.

"It hurts too much to put behind me…And every day his eyes remind me…"

"Thomas, I forgive you!"

Now!

"I know, my love, I know!"

_Now!_

"Thomas, come here…"

NOW!

"Thomas, let him go!"

_NOW!_

"Are you hungry, Edgar?"

Dr. Parker raised the knife.

And brought it –

Oh God.

* * *

What had they done?

They skirted, circled the bodies. In a pool of his own blood lay Dr. Parker, his entire neck a mess of gore, through his own work and the Bat Boy's. Next to him lay his wife, the knife coming out of her back, scarlet staining her dress. And finally, cradled in Shelley Parker's arms, lay the Bat Boy himself, bloody around the mouth and chest, bleeding from his own wound.

So much blood…

Shelley was crying, holding onto him. She spoke to him; only the boy cradled in her arms could hear her words. He whispered something to the girl. She sobbed quietly as he died.

An official-looking little man came running in, yelling, "I'm sorry I'm late! Where's this…" He stopped, staring at the scene before him. He asked, "What happened here?"

They didn't know themselves.

Slowly they moved closer to the still crying girl. The sheriff touched her arm. She looked up and whispered, "What was the point? Why did God do this?"

The sheriff answered, "So we could learn…"

Maggie looked to the Institute Man, and then back to Shelley. "Love your neighbor." _Learn to tolerate those who seem strange…_

Daisy, head lowered, thought to herself, "Forgive_…_" _I thought I did…I thought leaving my job was enough…but I didn't, I believed anyway…_

_We promised acceptance…and then we turned on him, and drove him to death._ "Keep your vows," Lorraine murmured.

Bud and Roy grasped Shelley's shoulders, offering comfort. "A mountain's no place to raise cows." _We would have killed for those cows…and for what? The wrong reason…the wrong person to blame…_

"Revenge is something God forbids," Ned added, looking over the bodies, said. _My own bloodlust…_

Clem said, looking down, "To scapegoat folks is wrong." _The way they had charged the innocent boy of murder without considering anything else…_

Mr. Dillon touched the Bat Boy's limp hand, remembering. _Another young body, dead of stupidity and hatred…_ "And don't kill Mrs. Taylor's kids," he suggested, and was rewarded with the faintest suggestion of a smile.

The sheriff sat next to Shelley, looking at the Bat Boy. He was peaceful in death as he had never been in life. He thought for a moment on how to phrase his thoughts: _How do you tell people to love those who are different, to embrace people who might not think or talk or act the same as you?_

He murmured, "Let go the fears to which you cling…"

The women took up his whisper, adding their own voices, "And through your fears you'll hear him sing…"

The men joined in, until it was a chorus of ghostly voices echoing through the forest, "Lift up your ears and join his song…"

They became one… "And join his song, and join his song, and join his song…"

"Hold your Bat Boy…Touch your Bat Boy…"

A whisper… "No more need to hide…"

Shelley took up the song at last, "Know your Bat Boy…Love your Bat Boy…"

_Don't deny the beast inside._

_

* * *

_

Okay, I know, I broke one of my own rules, which is never use the actual lyrics from the musical. But hey, the words do it so well, why replace them?

Notes for...All...: This was definitely my original plan for the entire thing. Show the ENTIRE play, with all of their thoughts as the action and dialogue occurs, in a kind of stream-of-consciousness style. It would be easy, I thought, I just had to get a script and start writing. Ha ha ha ha ha... yeah, that failed. But I was much happier with this result.

**ONE MORE CHAPTER ONLY!**


	15. Chapter 15: Endings

**LAST CHAPTER!** Cry...

It's been one hell of a journey, I'll say. I loved this story, and it took me to so many places...but all good things must come to an end. A big shout-out to readers and reviewers who stuck with me and this story the entire way.

Well, suffice to say it is an ending occurring after the events of the play, from Shelley's point of view. I have three interpretations of it, but feel free to give me any others. (Ambiguity is not my strong point. Neither is grief, for that matter.)

Without further ado...

**#12**

The baby was not even one when it died.

"Miscarriage," the doctor told her gently. "Only a month old…"

A month only? It had felt like much longer. She hadn't even known it existed before it was gone.

"It's only to be expected," he continued. "After all, under the circumstances…" He coughed, effectively glossing over an entire tragedy. "Deformities and such…I am surprised it was conceived, actually…"

She nodded numbly. The words seemed to cut at her, for all their understanding.

He said, unnerved by her silence but also expecting it, "It may be for the best. A child like that, if it had survived… I'm not sure what it would be…"

She gave a little smile that he missed. What would it be like? A child of incest, deformed, a monster baby, and a quarter bat to boot.

"If you need to talk to somebody, I know of a few people who may help," the doctor said, now peering closely at her. "After all, coming so soon after…that tragedy…it is a bit of a shock. There are some who are trained -"

She slid off the table and said sharply, "No. I don't need anything. Thanks anyway. I need to go."

"Miss Parker, I really think -"

"I said, no!"

She jogged out of the doctor's office. There were a few others in the waiting room, but she avoided their avid stares. It had been the same thing ever since –

The pain struck at her between the ribs. She made it out the door before sliding against the wall, clutching at her chest. She had never thought grief would be a _physical_ pain.

When it had subsided – it had lasted hours the first, terrible days – she got back up and walked to her house, as if nothing had happened.

The first days had been bad. Sometimes she would wake up confused, wondering where she was. She hated those moments – moments when she thought everything was still the same. That she would get up and see her father off to work, her mother making breakfast, and Edgar sitting at the table, smiling –

No. Not that again.

Then she would remember. To experience the crushing grief day after day…

She wasn't sure what was worse though. Now, a month later, she felt…nothing. Like a cold numbness had engulfed her. She couldn't feel anything, and she wasn't sure if she couldn't, or because she didn't want to.

She had reached her house. Her house, not her home. It wasn't her home. It was a place she ate and slept and lived in, but it was not her house.

She wanted to go home.

Suddenly she turned a corner, walking in another direction. Home was the small house at the edge of the woods. Home was the place she had grown up all her life, where she had played and laughed and loved. Home was elsewhere.

When she reached it, it was yet another shock. Her home was shuttered and shadowed, as if the tragedy of a month ago had somehow darkened it irrevocably. The lawn, she noticed, was brown and dried in the sun; the flowerbeds her mother had carefully watched over had died, with only weeds springing up. The house itself had been worn down to begin with; now it looked as if it could fall apart any moment. In the front was a large, handmade 'For Sale' sign. Judging by its worn out look, it had been in disuse for a while. Nobody came to this town, and none of the folks would want to live in a house that had had held the infamous –

She stopped the meandering thoughts quickly. The door was locked – she had tried it before. She wondered if the locks had changed. She still had the key with her…

She tried it. It swung open slowly and she stepped in.

It was dark – the windows had been closed, with the only light coming from the tiny creaks between the shutter flaps. A thin layer of dust had settled ("You can't wait until it gets dirty" – how true it was), and the air felt stagnant, unbroken by the hurried pace of human life.

She walked in, feeling an odd sensation – dizzying, déjà vu. She had walked this hallway, sat in that living room, eaten in the kitchen, climbed up those stairs. Yet the covered furniture and utter silence was unfamiliar. She found herself tiptoeing down the second floor, peeking into rooms she had known for her entire life.

There was her mother's bedroom. It had always been her mother's bedroom. She could only barely recall the days when her father had slept in the same room as her mother. There was her bedroom. It had been divested of her items, taken to her new home. This was the guest bedroom. Her father had slept in there, until her mother had accepted him back into her room, luckily making room for –

And there it was again. The pain.

The door was open and she couldn't help but see inside. It looked exactly the same – bare, lacking any personal items – _he_ had not had time to put any in –

Oh God, _it wouldn't go away_ –

She fled the house.

This wasn't home. Home was with her parents, with Edgar. This wasn't home either.

She was homeless.

* * *

Sometimes, lying in bed, she would miss her mother the most. She would feel it when sitting at a still-unfamiliar kitchen table, eating food prepared by another person. Once she had relaxed too much in the living room – had put her feet up on the coffee table and, hearing a person enter, quickly taken it off, expecting a reprimand: "Feet off the table, Shelley" – only to hear nothing. The lack of any lecture itself had hurt more than anything. But in bed, wishing childishly that her mother would come and tuck her in, she would miss Meredith Parker the most.

Other times she would miss her father – yes, even her insane father. He had been roughly loving towards her, in his own way. She wished, sometimes, that he would come banging through the door, announcing his presence. She missed his quiet protectiveness of her, the way he could scold her one moment than quietly indulge her in the next. And in her heart she could not blame him for anything. She had understood, at last, that night – it had not been for revenge, but for love – and hadn't she seen the exact, almost murderous love in the eyes of…

Edgar. She could finally say it. Edgar.

She missed Edgar at strange times. Sometimes seeing someone wearing the same clothing; walking with the same stance; sometimes, even seeing an animal, reminding her of his feral state. Sometimes, it hurt so much she wanted to scream, to rage, to destroy something.

Whom could she target, though? The townspeople? They had already learned their lesson. They had murmured their apologies, on the night her life was destroyed; at the funeral too, watching the people she loved most in the world leave her forever; whenever they encountered her, on the streets, at her school, at her house. They would talk about the things they had learned, the tolerance and the regret and the forgiveness…so much that it sickened her. She was starting to avoid people now.

Her father, who had killed himself with Edgar, and her mother too. She could blame him. Her mother, who had hidden the secrets all her life. She could blame her. She could even blame Edgar – pitiful, self-loathing, suicidal Edgar. But they had all died…

Oh God, she couldn't handle it. She ran – fled the table where she was eating, locking herself in her room, wishing she could cry or yell or claw the tormenting _grief_ from her chest.

Sleep came instead, mercifully quick.

_

* * *

_

_She was dreaming. She must be dreaming._

_Edgar was lying next to her, in some cloudy, nebulous world. He looked over at her._

"_Shelley…"_

_She hugged him. "Hey Edgar."_

_He stroked her hair. "Are you all right?"_

"_No."_

"_Why not?"_

"_You're dead."_

_There was a long pause. She tilted her face up at him. This was an odd dream. She didn't remember being able to control how she moved, what she said, what she could do, in her dreams. This felt personal…like she was living it. Strange…in her dreams she usually felt detached from it all…_

"_Oh, yes," he said._

_She glared at him suddenly, anger unleashing itself. "That's it? 'Oh, yes'? You bastard! You selfish son of a…" She whacked him, repeatedly. "You went and you killed…you stupid, idiotic – moron! And you just died! Why did you die? Why did you even WANT to die? Why did you leave me?"_

_She sobbed. She punched him one last time and pulled away._

_After a little while she felt his hand on her shoulder; she shrieked, without turning around, "Don't touch me!" His hand snapped back._

"_I want to get out," she said after a while._

_She felt his gaze on her back. "Will you come back?" he asked._

_She shrugged._

_He said, "I love you."_

* * *

She crossed the street, saw a crowd and veered away before they could catch sight of her. There was a shortcut through the woods. She was getting used to taking shortcuts. She was getting used to being alone.

She jogged over the underlying branches, dodged the hanging branches, and skidded to a halt at a trail. Without thinking she turned, moving up, clearing the heavy trees until she had reached –

A cave.

_The cave._

She teetered – she should be going back. They would be waiting for her to go back, and she needed to go home.

She had no home.

She snarled under her breath. She hated this life, this numbness, this desolation of hope. She hated the regrets and the dreams of what could have been and the nightmares of what actually happened.

She hated her life.

* * *

"_You came back."_

_She opened her eyes and looked at him._

"_That doesn't mean I've forgiven you," she snapped._

_He recoiled, then said, "Shelley, you have to understand -"_

"_Understand WHAT?" she shouted at him. "Why did you kill yourself?"_

"_I didn't -"_

"_I told you, we could still be a family!" She was standing over him, hands balled into fists. "Why did you ask to die? Why did you not want to be with me, and Mother, and Daddy? Why didn't you want to be a family?"_

"_A family?" he hissed. For once his anger was aimed at her, and she was frightened. Edgar had never, ever been angry with her. "You think that would have me happy? A FAMILY?"_

"_Edgar -"_

"_I didn't WANT a family, Shelley!" he raged. "I wanted love! I wanted to be able to…to love…to smile at a girl and not have her jump back…to be MYSELF without her screaming…" He grabbed onto her desperately. "You were the only one who could look at me…and talk to me…and touch me…but you…you…"_

_Suddenly he let go; in a panic, Shelley realized he was fleeing into the fog that surrounded this dream-haze-thing she had no comprehension of._

"_Edgar! EDGAR!"_

* * *

She slipped on a puddle and went tumbling to the damp, rocky floor. A stinging in her palms and a warm wetness told her that she had injured herself. She wiped it carelessly on her pants, wincing as she scraped skin off.

The light from the entrance had faded long ago; she was moving inward still, hand clinging to the walls. That, and the rare light from the broken cave top, was her only guide. Her eyes could not adjust to utter darkness; she was blind in this cave. Yet it felt comforting, safe, blackness wrapping itself about her like a cloak.

Her foot kicked into something solid; she heard it go skittering into the wall. Groping, she felt around on the floor until her hand knocked into something hard. It was rounded, ridged around the top…a helmet, she realized. With a light on top. Her fingers hooked the bottom edge and she lifted it up, fumbling for the light switch. The resulting light went directly to her eyes, blinding her.

After the stinging dissipated, she strapped the helmet on. The darkness had acquired an eerie edge with the light on, one she wasn't sure she liked. There were hard shadows, stalagmites and stalactites jutting out of the floor and ceiling.

It was actually a good thing she found the light. Without it, she might have tumbled to her death over the gaping chasm in the center of the cave.

As it was, she merely teetered on the edge. She missed the rope dangling nearby during her first panning of the cave, it was so thin. And when she did…she teetered some more, hesitating. She passed the light down, but the blackness of the maw swallowed up the feeble light.

_

* * *

_

_Oh, what the hell._

She grabbed the rope, wincing as she slid down. It burned, rubbing her scraped palms, as she started sliding to the bottom.

"_Do you think you can come back?" she asked him._

_He raised his eyebrows. "I'm dead. Nobody comes back from that."_

_She didn't want to hear that. "You're a Bat Boy. You're…different."_

"_Shelley…you're asking for the impossible."_

_She wrapped his arms around herself. "I want you back."_

"_I want to…"_

"_We could make a new life. We could move away! We could get our own house…far away from anyone! We could live together…no one would have to know about us…"_

"_I…can't."_

_She kissed him. He didn't try to resist._

"_Please."_

_He opened his eyes. "I wish I could," he breathed. "But I can't. You know I can't!"_

* * *

She hit the ground a little too early, skidded and collapsed. Her ankle ached; she wondered if she had sprained it. Now she truly was grateful for the light.

She cast around for another place to explore. It seemed to go on…and she was tired. Her hands and knees were still stinging; she couldn't support herself on one leg. Her stomach growled suddenly, and she regretted leaving her backpack outside the cave.

The ground was dank, wet with dripping water, cold to the touch. Carefully she laid out her sweater, sweeping away water droplets with the tips of her fingers. She lay down, flicked off the light, and set it close beside her. The darkness was once again a blanket of comfort.

She closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

* * *

"_I want to be with you," she cried. "I love you." She grabbed onto him. "I miss you."_

"_Then wait. You will be here…eventually. Wait."_

_She looked up at him. "No."_

_A horrified expression came over him. "No. Shelley, no."_

_There was a determined lift to her chin. "You can't stop me."_

"_No! Not you, you can't!"_

"_Wait for me."_

"_SHELLEY!"_

"_Wait for me!"_

She wasn't sure where she was anymore. Even with the light everything looked the same. Sometimes things blurred. She wondered if she was limping in circles.

_"Please…" he begged her. "Why…why would you want to come…here?"_

_"You need help," she told him. "Look at this place! What is this?"_

_"I thought it was the place animals go to when they die," he muttered._

_She grabbed his hand. "You are not an animal."_

_"Maybe it's hell. My own personal hell." Guilt, shame, and self-loathing all crossed his face…He dropped his gaze. "Everywhere you put me, look what I destroy."_

_She took his hand in hers. "You didn't destroy this."_

_He looked sick._

_"I want to be with you, Edgar, I want to help you!"_

_"You can't help me."_

_"Let me try."_

* * *

She crawled forward.

She was wet and cold.

She was hungry.

She was so very tired.

She wanted to lie down for just a bit.

But she had to keep going.

_

* * *

_

_"Please," he whispered desperately. "Don't do this…"_

_"Why aren't you happy here? You wanted this."_

_He wrapped his arms around his knees. "I'll hate myself forever…for everything I've done to you." He looked up as she came down to his level and curled next to him. "It would have been better for everyone if your father had killed me the day we were born."_

_"But then I would never have met you," she murmured. She grinned. "I would have been stuck with Rick Taylor."_

_He grunted._

_She kissed his cheek. "You're stuck here, aren't you?"_

_His eyes were half-wild with fear. "Please Shelley…"_

_"You can't move on."_

_"No…"_

_"Let me help!"_

* * *

She woke up. The light was gone. She felt blind.

She heaved herself up. The wounds were a dull pain to her. She felt waves of dizziness crash into her.

Keep moving. Keep going.

* * *

_"All I can think of," he whispered, "are bad things…" He shuddered. "Being dragged out…in a cage…when I couldn't go to the revival…when they…they…attacked me…"_

_"Edgar, stop it."_

_"When they chased me…and being told…told…"_

_"Edgar…" The dense fog of nothingness was darkening, but Edgar didn't seem to notice._

_"…that I couldn't love you…that you were…"_

_"Stop it, Edgar!"_

_"…my sister…"_

_"STOP IT!"_

_She clamped a hand over his mouth as the fog turned pitch black._

* * *

How deep was she, she wondered.

How deep did the cave go?

She'd heard bats, but that was a while ago.

Maybe it led all the way down to the core. Wasn't the core molten lava? She could walk and walk and walk and eventually fall over the edge…

* * *

_"I'm so alone," he finally murmured. _

_"Let me help you."_

_"Please…you can't…" _

_She stroked his cheek, his head, the ears which moved under her hand the way no human ears could. "When you were in that cage," she said, "What did you see first?"_

_He blinked. "I don't know…It's all so confusing…"_

_"You said you would forget about it whenever I looked at you…"_

_"Yes…"_

_"Then think of me, right now," she said. "Think of us dancing…"_

_He stared at her._

_"Of the revival, when everyone was with you…think of us together…"_

_"You were so pretty in that dress," he whispered. "And you came looking for me, even though…" He seemed to wipe away the thought. "You were worried for me…and then…" Pain._

_"No! Stop it!" Shelley yelled. "Keep going! Remember what happened after!"_

_"We kissed," he said, almost dreamily. "You said you loved me…and I loved -" He started suddenly. "It's…"_

_"What?"_

_"I see it…light…"_

_"Light?" she gasped disbelievingly._

_"Yes…it's beautiful…"_

_"Go to it!" Shelley said. "Go!"_

_"I -" He was staring at her, and she could see the light too – it was pouring from Edgar himself, luminous, healing. "You did it," he whispered. "You did it, Shelley, you -" A bit of fear. "I'm not sure where it goes -"_

_"Don't worry," she assured him. "Just go."_

_He looked at her again, pure love in his yes. "I love you, Shelley."_

_"I love you, Edgar."_

* * *

She could walk now.

It didn't hurt so much.

She could see…a light up ahead. Perhaps she was reaching the end.

The darkness receded. It was bright. She squinted, raising a hand.

She saw…a figure. Someone familiar. A smile broke out and she ran forward, her hunger, her fatigue, her pain, left behind her.

"Edgar!" she exclaimed.

And she raced into his waiting arms.

_Fini_


End file.
